Weeks passed.
The cruise carried me from Miami to Jamaica, through the Caribbean, and eventually toward Europe.
I finally saw places I had spent forty years promising myself I would visit someday.
Someday always came after somebody else.
After Austin needed help.
After Chloe needed a babysitter.
After Ernest recovered.
After the bills were paid.
After everyone else was comfortable.
There had always been another after.
Until there wasn’t.
So I stopped waiting.
I learned to dance on the upper deck.
I ate breakfast by myself.
I joined a watercolor class.
I sat with strangers and listened to their lives.
Nobody asked what I could do for them.
They simply asked my name.
“Theresa.”
And that was enough.
Two months into the cruise, Austin called.
I answered.
“Mom.”
His voice sounded different.
Softer.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I went to Dad’s grave.”
