The Crew Member Who Saved My Cruise (and My Heart)

I almost didn't take this cruise. Six months before my Holland America Line booking on the Koningsdam, my husband of thirty-two years passed away, and the idea of traveling alone felt impossible. My daughter practically had to drag me to the travel agent to finalize the reservation I'd made when he was still here, promising it would help me heal. I was skeptical. How could a week on a ship possibly fix the gaping hole in my chest? The morning I boarded the Koningsdam in Fort Lauderdale, I felt numb. The ship was magnificent—I could see that objectively—with its sleek hull, elegant lines, and the distinctive red and black Holland America funnel towering above the dock. But beauty felt irrelevant. I walked onto the vessel, wheeled my luggage behind me, and tried not to think about how I should have been doing this with someone. My cabin was on Deck 7, a modest oceanview that would have delighted me in another life. I unpacked mechanically, hung up the few dresses I'd brought, and sat on the edge of the bed staring at nothing. The ship hummed with energy—the sounds of embarkation chaos, crew members giving directions, families laughing as they explored their temporary home. It all fe…