Coming home.

Our province was built, and continues to exist, on the fishery.

Whether you live in Leading Tickles, Ramea or St. John's you are connected and the lifeblood that runs through the fabric of your community, and the economic survival of your community revolves and depends on the vast ocean resources we have as well as the hard work of those who put their lives and safety on the line to and raw material to the wharves.

On Thursday evening, as I sat here in this exact spot at the table, hammering out words on a blank page, my phone buzzed:

"Glenn's boat is missing."

And the terror, the anxiousness, the shaking hands and tightness in the throat felt by anyone who knows someone who puts their life on the line in this industry when they hear those words, sank in.

The familiar dread felt in 2001 when the phone rang and Peggy Lee said, "Darrell isn't home." And just like that two friends and their dad vanished into thin air like they had never existed on the vast expanse of Bonavista Bay.

The horror of the phone call in 2004 when dad turned back to the supper table and said, "The Ryans are in trouble off the Cape." And the next morning surveying the rubble on the beach that was left of a vessel that, when seen weeks earlier, seemed beautiful and invincible. Two men gone.

The anxiousness with another call in 2005 that gave the same story, as the Melina and Keith II went down, the unforgiving ocean swallowing four men so close to home.

All too familiar.

As the daughter of a fish harvester there is not one day when he goes to work that you are not aware that the phone may ring and this time it is not someone else who has been thrust into the waves.

It may not be another family sitting vigil and hoping against the odds that are undoubtedly stacked against any human who battles nature.

That on the other end of the phone there might be someone telling you there is no contact with the people most important to you on a vessel that, tied to the wharf, looms over her berth.

Yet, still not invincible to the force that is the Atlantic ocean.

Being fortunate to work with harvesters in the industry that has filled my heart and soul since the day I was born, and realized that everything we had came from the sea, unfortunately also comes with the tragedy and loss caused by the unforgiving sea.

So we sat vigil as a Union, as an industry, as a province, as the children and relatives and friends of fish harvesters.

The conversations were grim.

Videos and pictures were shared of young men singing and laughing on the deck of the vessel, working hardily as boxes of turbot sat around them.

"As they steam up the harbour,
You can see their masthead light..."

But there was no light.

There was no mayday.

No communication.

No sign.

Family members begged for dad, son, friend to come home; for captain Carter to bring them home as they knew he was capable.

Nearly every conversation had brought some mention of how dire each passing minute and second looked as there was no communication from the Elite Navigator.

And last night, into the early morning hours that I know everyone has spent awake since hearing the first reports, while chatting about diminishing hope, I opened Facebook and the first message I saw was, "All seven on the Navigator r safe."

Safe.

For moments I know everyone who saw that post sat in silence, shock, dismay.

Good news is not often heard in our industry when such tragedies strike.

Safe.

And since that moment small details have trickled in of a faint handheld red flare seen by the Canadian Coast Guard vessel Teleost who was then able to reach the life raft and bring all seven to safety.

Bravo Zulu.

This industry is full of disaster, heartbreak, and every ounce of anxiety and worry when a vessel is known to be in distress or overdue is felt in the souls of every person in this province.

We are the fishery.

Captain Carter brought his men home and the scene on the wharf in Valleyfield this afternoon will be one the ocean has stolen from so many - but the crew of the Elite Navigator are coming home.

Dads, sons, brothers, friends, are coming home.

And I know last evening the entire province breathed a united sigh of relief as the news circulated. The radio recording from the Placentia Coast Guard will never not give us chills and remind us that the ocean is unforgiving but unites us all, while reminding all of us that next time it could be us.

It will never be you until it is.

To the families and friends of the crew - I hope you could feel the arms of an entire province and industry around you as you waited with bated breath and dread.

Welcome home, boys.

"With their hardy crews and captains,
They're the finest fishermen.
And the girls are all excited,
The longliners are coming in..."