The past week my mother, Oma Ria, was with us on board. And somehow, I keep trying to explain just how special that is… but it almost feels too big for words.

It was her fourth visit. You might think it becomes more ordinary each time. But it doesn’t. If anything, it feels even more meaningful. Maybe because time is moving, quietly but undeniably. She isn’t getting any younger. And yet, she made it here. She trained for it, every single day, walking and moving so she would be strong enough to step on board and be part of our life.

She isn’t a sailor. Not at all. But she lets it all happen, leans into it, and enjoys it in her own beautiful way.

And the longer we are away, the more precious these moments become. They feel rarer. We hadn’t seen her since Christmas. Even Philou felt it this time, counting down the days until she arrived. And when she’s here, we take it all in. Fully. Knowing that at some point, there will be another goodbye.

That part never gets easier. It’s tender. A little heavy. But it also makes room for something else… gratitude for what was, and excitement for the memories still to come.

This week felt different. Slower. Deeper. We visited remote little islands, without a tight plan, yet somehow experienced so much. But mostly, we were just together. And that, I think, is what made it so special.

I find it incredibly meaningful that my mother steps into our rhythm. Into our family life. That she doesn’t just visit, but truly becomes part of it. She sees how we live, how we navigate this life. The beautiful parts, but also the harder moments. And she meets all of it with openness.

Yesterday, she said something that stayed with me:
“Thank you for creating space for all of us to simply be ourselves.”

That might just be the essence of it all.

The first time you come, there’s excitement, curiosity, a bit of uncertainty. You imagine what life on board might be like, but you don’t really know. Now she knows. The unknown has softened. And in that space, something else can grow… true connection. This week felt like that. Truly together.

When your circle becomes smaller, when you’ve both lost your fathers, and Edwin has also lost his mother, you start to hold these moments differently. You cherish them. You don’t take them for granted.

We found ourselves saying it out loud… hoping, wishing, that this can continue into a next time. That she will keep sharing in the life we are building. And we’ll see what time brings. But this week… we have it. We lived it. We felt it.

Deeply, deeply grateful.

As I write this, a quiet tear rolls down my cheek. Not from sadness, but from something much softer. Gratitude. Joy. Awe. That we get to live this life, and even more, that we get to share it.

One moment keeps coming back to me.

Because of the weather, and because we wanted to stay on the islands as long as possible, we had to sail back at night. The alarm went off at three in the morning. I told her to stay in bed. “It’s just motoring,” I said. “Not that exciting.”

But of course… she didn’t.

She wanted to be there. To feel it. To see it.

For us, it’s become familiar. Still special, but familiar. For her, it was something entirely new. She came and sat next to me in the cockpit, wrapped in the quiet of the night. The sky was filled with stars, millions of them. The water shimmered with light. It felt like a private show, just for us.

And at the same time, there we were… alert, navigating, watching. It was busy out there. A cruise ship passing, cargo vessels in the distance. Sailing between islands, constantly orienting ourselves. She saw it all. How we do this. What it asks of us.

Yesterday, before she left, she told us that this had been her favourite moment of the entire week. Sitting there, in the dark, experiencing our world.

With tears in her eyes, she said:
“That you can still give me experiences like this, at my age… that is a gift.”

And she’s right. It is.

A gift we were able to give. And share.

Now we look ahead to the next visit. Hoping it will be just as special. And also looking forward to welcoming Oma Jos and Roos.

Today, we slow down a little. We sail towards Samos. And we take a moment to remember my father, whose birthday it would have been today. Two years since we lost him, just before we set off on this journey.

And somewhere in between moving forward and looking back… we simply sit with it all.

Grateful. Full. Together.

#Gratitude #FamilyMoments #LifeAtSea

Some moments don’t ask for more… they ask to be felt.