For 32 years, we kept postponing the trip of our dreams—until my husband died and left me one final surprise at our anniversary table.
For more than three decades, Frank and I saved every extra dollar for a Mediterranean cruise we always called our someday adventure. Every anniversary another bill arrived before the dream could. A broken furnace, college tuition, family emergencies, heart surgery—our savings disappeared again and again. When pancreatic cancer took Frank only months before our departure, I packed the tickets away with everything else that reminded me of the future we would never share. My children argued that I shouldn’t travel alone, but I knew canceling the cruise would mean burying our dream alongside my husband. Three months after his funeral, I finally stepped aboard the ship carrying only one suitcase, a broken heart, and memories I wasn’t ready to let go of.