The Cruise

One of the best movie quotes of all time was said by the amazing Bill Murray in one of the most underrated comedies of all time, What About Bob. “There are two types of people in this world: Those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don’t. My ex-wife loves him.” That’s how I feel about taking cruises. Some folks love cruising, some just don’t. Some of us aren’t sure how we feel, so we keep booking cruises hoping to make a definitive decision. That’s my group. And yes, that means I’m getting ready for a cruise. It reminds me of my best times on cruise ships. It reminds me of my worst. Cue foghorn.

My husband and I went from never stepping foot on a ship for almost 20 years to cruising twice within a 2-month span, back in 2019. We’d already booked an Alaskan cruise for the two of us, but an opportunity to go on a family cruise with my mom, her sister, and a slew of cousins, proved too much to ignore. Whether you’re a cruise person or not, a boat is key to really see Alaska. We saw Ketchikan, Juneau, Skagway, and British Columbia. That would be a lot of puddle jumping without benefit of a cruise ship. It was spectacular. Still, there were issues. It’s me. I’m issues.

This moment in time hurts my brain to recall. We were in that muddled middle part. We knew something was wrong with mom, but we were still progressing through tests and diagnostic appointments with various doctors. We didn’t know she had Alzheimer’s, but we sort of knew she had Alzheimer’s. Yet, she was able to drive. She lived alone. She had family within a mile. She had a close friend just steps away. Also, she had a stomach virus she lovingly gave to me. That virus was my own personal stowaway on the Norwegian Bliss. It didn’t show its face until we headed toward Juneau. I vomited for 16 hours straight, landing in the infirmary for several hours after a wheelchair ride I cannot remember. Do you know how much it costs to spend several hours in a ship infirmary with an IV for fluids and a generic bottle of Kaopectate? It costs $2,000, my dear. They immediately cut off your free food card, too. Oh, the best part? Insurance doesn’t cover the ocean. It’s out of network. The other best part? My husband caught it the night before our debarkation. I will spare you those details other than to say I deserve a trophy for getting him off that boat.

The next cruise was the family trip to Honduras and Jamaica. Mom really wanted to go, and she really wanted us to take her. She seemed to bounce back from the dreaded virus faster than I had. She was handling day-to-day activities like a champ. We were beginning to wonder if we were blowing this whole dementia thing out of proportion. Her famous jokes had punchlines sharper than tacks. She was happy! Her appetite was on point. We watched the Blue Angels fly over the highway in Houston as we were driving to Galveston to board the ship and she cried. “It’s all so beautiful,” she said. “This time is such a blessing.” Six hours later, we found her barefoot in the ship’s hallway, locked out of her room and rummaging through other people’s suitcases because she thought they were all hers. She woke me each night at 3 am, knocking on my cabin door, next to hers, because she thought she heard me calling for her. I had to double tip the room steward to keep an eye on her while we slept. She wandered away twice as we, along with throngs of others, entered the main dining room for dinner. I say these things never to embarrass, but to remind everyone that Joni Mitchell was right. Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got til its gone? Nevertheless, it was a beautiful cruise. I think about those last coherent days with my mother, spent in paradise, almost daily.

I am an expert level suitcase packer these days. I wield compression packing cubes like nunchucks. I can roll a capsule wardrobe into a miniscule cloth origami shape better than the cruise dudes can make elephants out of towels. I can simplify. I can condense. I can pull 25 outfits from 5 wardrobe staples masterfully. Yet, the things that multiply into densely unpackable objects that clog up my mind worse than the iceberg that sank the Titanic are the memories. You can’t fold them, but they insist on going along for the ride. This upcoming trip involves the same aunt and cousin crew. But mom won’t be there. You know, I used to hate Neil Diamond. Now I don’t think he’s that bad anymore. “I am, I cried. I am, said I. And I am lost and I can’t even say why. Leavin’ me lonely still.” Bon voyage.