The Things We Pack
I gazed out the window of our cruise ship cabin. Grey-blue waves seemed to stretch out infinitely over the horizon. We were 700 miles from San Francisco where we’d departed, headed for Hawaii. Tears welled up in my eyes, fogging up my glasses. Why am I so sad? I should be enjoying this vacation, not pining away at this window. But I couldn’t help it. The ocean view was just a visual reminder of the endless grief waves that keep crashing over me. Even though it’s been a little over eight months, they just keep coming. Will they ever stop? The grief books assure me they will eventually slow down. I sure hope so! Back in the fall, we planned the late-January vacation knowing that the holidays, followed by Adam’s birthday two weeks after Christmas, would likely leave us drained. We were right. As we packed the Sunday before, I asked Don, “Do you think there will ever be a day when we don’t think about losing him?” “We’ll never stop thinking about him,” Don said. “But