“That night the halls were alive with the sound of footsteps as frantic messengers ran from room to room. The messengers all bore the same words “promise me you’ll keep in touch!” and they all did promise…and those promises would not begin to fade for at least a year, perhaps two” – David Eddings
The final day always dons with no warning, no matter ho prepared you are, or how much you try, you’re never ready for it. You know its coming, and you swear you’re organized, and yet you are somehow always caught by surprise. There is always so much to do, and seemingly so little time to do it in. Everywhere you go there are tearful goodbyes, hugs in the hallways, or quick high-fives offered when there simply isn’t time to stop and say anything. There is luggage to be inspected…emails addresses to be collected, gifts to be exchanged and family to say goodbye to. Phone calls to make and letters to send and photographs to deliver.
The crew office has its hands full processing everyone’s passports, seaman’s books and final paperwork, and at long last the final evaluations are distributed , letting those of us who have been uselessly gnawing our fingernails to the bone about our results finally breathe a sigh of relief when are granted sky high passes and excellent comments on all counts.
The cabins that have served as our personalized temporary homes for months are now stripped down and packed into three suitcases and two carry-ons, the only things remaining out are the laptops and the uniform we still have to wear for the day plus whatever we’re wearing on the flight home in the morning. Luggage is hauled down to the marshalling area for inspection, where it’s then tossed onto a cart for customs to look at in the morning. I wince for the fate of my single soft-side suitcase (I usually only travel with hard-sided luggage, but I ended up with more than I intended this trip) – but remind myself that there is nothing in it that can be broken, it’s hard to damage clothes, sheets and stuffed animals.
There is an odd sense of peace that descends atop the panic, the knowledge that from here on in there is nothing you can do. The whole process is out of your hands, the handovers have been written, the comment cards delivered – the next 24 hours are a last ditch effort to make that ever-critical final impression, and tie up all the loose ends…before you dust your hands of it for another season and walk away.
And of course there is the crew farewell. The last time we all stand on stage together as a family and look out at the guests that have been both our joy and the bane of our existence for the last four months (and I say that honestly, because they know full well that’s the case) – the flags of every country line the front of the stage, trembling slightly as the people holding them shift their weight nervously from foot to foot. Department after department we line ourselves up on stage, and listen to the captain give a speech that would have been worthy of a presidential campaign, and then the CD comes out and says his piece, choking up himself in the process. Mascara starts to run, and the words to Love in Every Language are somewhat mangled and forgotten as they always are – but the message stands true: though our words are all unique our hearts remain the same.
It has been one helluva a journey, and none of us – least of all myself – knew where we were going to end up when we stepped onto the ship months ago. We’re all going home different people, and I thank each and everyone of you, whether you read this or not, who have been involved in helping me take my sometimes unsteady steps along the way…
And so, from the bottom of my heart:
“Have a great day today…and an even better day tomorrow”
‘Till next, I wish you all fair winds and following seas,
Bright Blessings
Shaughnessy.