It was a clear, cool and crisp day. The sun seemed more prominent then usual revealing the hidden oceanic world of ‘the below’. My yacht was a minuscule one - compared to the size of the Pacific - just big enough though for my loving husband and myself. He was 75 and I was 74. We had been together for forty years and together we shared a bright and enduring connection. Together we decided to voyage to ceremonious Fiji for an anniversary present. The yacht was making a steady effort through the massive Pacific. The ocean was calm and collected and together the two of us were having an extravagant time. We saw an island just off the horizon so we both graciously decided to have a look. We pivoted to the humble abode, and over time, the closer we got the island, we realized that the archipelago was quite sizable. I have had a hard past. I lost my mum when I was at the tender age of fourteen. My father, who is 101, now has cancer and is probably not going to pull through the tough times. My flamboyant sister was the loving caretaker for my old, wrinkly and decrepit father but now her jobs is not needed. The archipelago was majestic, the intimidating pearl green palm trees and the invading shoreline took me back to the days of when we went to our holiday house off the coast of New South Wales. I walked around the quiet and magical island barefoot. There was no need for shoes because your feet sunk into the silky smooth sand. My husband grew up in the country, so this in reality this is quite new to him. He in his lifetime has only visited the coast six times. As we made our way to the other side we were confronted with a twenty ‘odd’ metre cliff. We carefully but graciously made our way to the edge of the crumbly escarpment. Carefully we sat down and admired the royal scenery. The waves were thundering into the rocks below. As we looked around we could see other tinier retreats that surrounded this stunning island. The memories s