The Fireworks Were Beautiful. I Was Thinking About My Sister's Casket.
On New Year's Eve, I stood on the deck of a cruise ship watching fireworks explode over the ocean.
Around me, people were celebrating. Champagne glasses clinked. Music played. People counted down to midnight. Everyone seemed excited for a fresh start.
The day before had been the one-year anniversary of my sister's death. And all I could think about was picking out her casket.
What I remember most about that night wasn't the fireworks.
It wasn't the ship.
It wasn't even the grief.
It was the fact that I was alone.
Not alone in the sense that nobody was around me. There were thousands of people on that ship.
"I was alone because I had nobody to go with me."
When people hear "solo travel," they often assume it was a choice.
Sometimes it is.
I had traveled solo frequently before. I enjoy solo travel. There are trips where I genuinely want the freedom, the independence, and the space that comes with traveling alone.
This wasn't one of those trips.
The anniversary of my sister's death had fallen the day before. And my other sister's anniversary three weeks prior - so I had spent the entire month of December traveling. I didn't want to spend those days staring at the same walls, replaying the same memories, trying to survive one of the hardest dates on my calendar.
I wanted to get away. I wanted to be somewhere else. But I didn't have anyone to go with me. And that's something I think people underestimate.
Not everyone has a spouse who can take off work, or everyone has friends whose schedules align.
Not everyone has someone who can afford the trip, wants to take the trip, or understands why the trip matters in the first place.
Grief can be incredibly isolating.
The world keeps moving. People go back to work. They take care of their families. Life continues.
Meanwhile, you're trying to figure out how to survive anniversaries.
"Standing on that ship, I remember thinking that I couldn't possibly be the only person carrying something heavy."
Surely there was someone else on board who had lost a spouse. Someone who had lost a parent, or a child.
Someone standing beneath those same fireworks thinking about a hospital room instead of a celebration. Someone who understood that this wasn't really a New Year's cruise for me.
It was something much more personal.
But we were all strangers. And that's what stayed with me.
The idea that there are so many people carrying it alone.
People who are trying to continue living after loss.
And people who often don't have anyone to go with them.
That night planted a seed.
What if grieving travelers didn't have to choose between staying home and going completely alone?
What if there were other people out there who understood why the trip mattered?
People who understood anniversaries.
People who understood memorial trips.
People who understood that sometimes you aren't taking a vacation at all.
You're trying to make it through a date.
Years later, that question became Roaming to Remember.
Because I don't think I was the only person standing somewhere beautiful while carrying something heartbreaking.
And I know I wasn't the only person wishing there had been someone beside me who understood why I was there.
You don't have to carry it alone.
Learn more about Roaming to Remember and find Roamates who understand.
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