Twice cursed, twice blessed. The aftermath of miracles isn’t tidy, but with enough examination, the miracle and the aftermath can tell us who we are.

On December 20, 1977, a freak storm on the remote, craggy Northern California coast sinks my father’s commercial fishing vessel. A phone call reporting him missing wakes my mother in time for her to discover the house is burning. She wrangles my brother and me from our cribs, tucks us under either arm and runs out. The house is reduced to ash.
For four days, Dad drifts 300 miles north riding in his life raft up and down waves up to 50-feet tall. A dog on a 300-foot-long Greek freighter barks, alerting the crew of my father’s life raft. On Christmas Eve 1977, our family is reunited – a Christmas miracle.  This is where my story begins.

~ This is a true story. ~

2019. I have been writing a personal-family memoir for five years, capturing the relevant event, the aftermath, the long road to recovery that, for several years crisscrossed the United States in a Volkswagen bus. Events like this leave their mark and they tell us who we are.

Crystal Reflecting is my work space for exploring this story, taking tangents, seeking meaning.

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