Finding My Way Back: My First Cruise Without Him

The cruise terminal was a blur of activity when I arrived, and I found myself standing still in the middle of the crowd, wheeling a suitcase that suddenly felt heavier than it should. Six months. It had been six months since Tom died, and I was about to board the Margaritaville at Sea Paradise completely alone for the first time since we'd gotten married thirty-two years ago. My daughter had practically forced me to book this cruise. "Mom, you need to do something for yourself," she'd said during one of our weekly coffee dates where I mostly stared into my cappuccino. She'd even paid for it, which made me feel guilty and grateful in equal measure. I'd never done anything alone. Not vacations, not dinners out, not even grocery shopping without at least mentally running things by Tom first. The thought of spending five days on a ship by myself felt less like a vacation and more like a punishment. But here I was, shuffling forward in the boarding line with my Room key card in hand—Deck 10, Aft—trying not to think about how Tom would have already been cracking jokes with the crew members by now. He was the social one. I was the observer. That had always worked for us. The first aftern…