Unfortunately,  I have sad news to impart – Mart has made his final crossing. He sadly passed away at 4pm South African time, on Friday 3 October.

Mart had been unwell for some time now, but really frail over about the past month.  As the days have gone by, so his health had deteriorated. He had many falls, one very bad one which was a visit to the ED for 13 stitches onto his “bald pate”. Apart from that, his legs had weakened to the extent that he could barely stand let alone put one foot in front of the other, even with the help of his “Ferrari” which is what he called his red Rollator. He has been under palliative care doctors for about 10 days now, due to the deterioration of his kidneys, and he has also had a day and a night carer on duty, plus Wade and me.

The past couple of days have not been good days, and he had been delirious with lucid bits in-between. He talked incessantly (really non-stop and mostly incoherently) to, or with, people for the last day-and-a-half, and I would just love to know who he’s been talking to, or with. He was remembering much of his life, especially his sea days and his old mates. He was in a hospital bed at home, with side railings, and he hated that. He wanted to be rid of them as he felt “hijacked”, he called it and was terribly worried about the ship sailing without him. In the few days before he passed, he’d been to Amsterdam (but not the Red-Light District, he said); Antwerp (don’t know why); Israel (it could have been something on the news); New York (not sure what brought that on), and various other “ports of call”.

He kept on talking about “Room 126” and “Room 127” – not sure if that was a cabin number of his, or of course the cabin of a lady passenger, on one of his vessels. But he kept apologising to me and repeatedly saying, “nothing happened in there, I promise you”. Surely that wasn’t a Bingo number, was it?? He remembered things about various escapades, and times he spent, with all of you, his friends. He talked a lot about the UK and a bit about his mum and dad. He’s remembering people that have already passed on, like Tweed, Banners, Jimmy Mac – I’m sorry, but my mind is so boggled, I can’t even remember who else – but many people and many escapades – he was quite “the Lad” methinks. He kept asking me to cancel him out of his golf game, because he can’t walk anymore and it’s too expensive to hire a buggy. His memories brought either a smile to my lips, or tears to my eyes.

A cute little story about the night before he passed. He refused to take his meds (spitting them out and clenching his teeth), saying that he needed to make the ship before it sailed, and he wanted the police to come and fetch him. He was very anxious and quite heightened by all that was happening to him and would call out, “Help, police, please come – they are holding me hostage.” So sad but understandable considering where his mind was at that time. So, Wade phoned a friend of his and put him on speakerphone for Mart to converse. Friend says, “Hello sir, this is Colonel Groenewald here; what is the problem (quite an Afrikaans accent)?” Mart proceeded to tell his story to the “Colonel” – about how he was being held hostage by these people, and he had to get to the ship before it sailed. “So tell me, Sir, have you taken your medication tonight”? Mart’s reply was, no! Colonel Groenewald, “Well, sir, once you have taken your medication, I will send a car to take you to the ship. Okay, sir?” Mart – “yes, thank you Colonel – please be quick”. One gulp and the meds disappeared. A bittersweet moment, I suppose you’d call it.

The doctor (a lovely Christian, compassionate lady) came yesterday morning for a further assessment, and we decided that, to avoid putting him into hospital, which he didn’t want, she was going to give him intravenous meds to be delivered every three hours, and which would ease Mart’s anxiety. This is being done to alleviate his pain and calm him down – but it is painful for us, nonetheless. Since his first dose at 10am before the doctor left, he had been soundly asleep with just the sound of “loud” yet comforting snoring coming from his room. The doctor said that it was the sheer exhaustion of his last couple of days that was making him relax. He had really been talking incessantly, night and day, eyes closed with us, and carers, watching him – he must have been totally exhausted.

When the carer and I went into his room at 4pm, (with Wade who was home early from work and to show him what had to be done), he took one last breath and his last ship sailed – he made the boarding time. We can only pray that he had a gentle crossing to his next port of call.