Traveling While Grieving
What navigating loss in a strange land has taught me about life.
“It’s better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all,” Alfred Lord Tennyson.
I have traveled while many things before.
I have traveled while tired. I have traveled while sick. I have traveled while broke. I have traveled while lonely. I have traveled while feeling blue. I have traveled with uncertainty. I’ve even traveled with no hotel booked when I landed. But this past year and a half is the first time that I’ve traveled while grieving over and over again.
When my soul dog died suddenly and tragically two days after I returned from a trip, I didn’t believe I’d ever survive his death, much less think of traveling ever again. I tried to honor my dog the best ways I could by writing a letter to him, releasing a red balloon into the heavens since he had a red ball he particularly loved, encouraging others in online grief groups, and getting a stuffed dog replica of him made.
However, I realized that the best way to honor my dear pup was to get back to who I was. And at heart, I am a traveler. I am an explorer. I am forever curious about the world and the people in it. I traveled to Vietnam six months after his death, making rookie mistakes but enjoying every bit of it. I laughed, cried, got lost, forgot things, explored, did several things that scared me and sucked as much adventure as I could from Vietnam.
I’d stare into space when my dear Winston showed up in my mind always unexpected and I woke up in panic when I realized he really was gone. How did my Texas-sized love for my dog not equate to him living forever? But there was no sense punishing myself by staying home, even though the circumstances of his death resulted in dirty grief and the fact that he is a dog was met with disenfranchised grief.
Dirty grief: defined as grief that is filled with guilt or shame and anger.
Disenfranchised grief: defined as grief that others feel you should get over quickly, such as grieving over a pet, or grief that others don’t deem legitimate.
It felt strange not going to pick him up from his boarder when I returned from a trip. I’d give my right arm to see my dog sliding across the floor, yelping, and peeing a little at his excitement, when I picked him up even after a few hours of being gone.
It’s been a year and a half since his passing, and my heart will always grieve while traveling knowing he won’t be waiting for me when I return.
Then came the year anniversary of his passing. When I booked my flight, I was on my way to an event on January 1st when the email alert came in: *MISTAKE FARE TO SENEGAL*. I quickly opened my email and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Flights to Senegal were selling for 300–500 USD as a direct flight from NYC. I knew mistake fares could disappear in a heartbeat so while in the car, I swiftly chose random dates that would honor the steep discount and purchased flights to Senegal on a whim.
I’ve never been to West Africa, despite my strong desire to travel my roots because the flights were always cost prohibitive. It wasn’t until months later, I realized that the dates I chose included the anniversary of my dog’s death. So now, my trip to Senegal became a trip to the Motherland to honor the death of my dog.
All year, I was nervous that I would have a mental breakdown one year after his death but now I would be halfway across the world by myself in the land of my ancestors. What the heck would I do to commemorate the one year anniversary of the worst day of my life?
Then, I read an article on grief and it reminded me of a quote from the movie UP that Ellie wrote to Carl: “Thanks for the adventure. Now go have a new one,” I felt my dog telling me. On the actual day, I was leaving Cape Verde where I traveled for a few days since it was a short flight from Senegal. I would be in Senegal for about 12 hours, then I’d fly back to NYC on a red-eye flight.
But I should have known, just like the day my dog died, things rarely turn out as planned. In Cape Verde, I wasn’t a puddle of tears as I feared. It was a picture perfect cloudless day, with a soothing salted breeze from the ocean permeating the air. I recorded a tribute video, cried a few tears and took my uneventful flight to Senegal. In Senegal, I reconnected with my new friends and I did all the things I didn’t get to do during my week there, such as swimming in the ocean on a nearby island, eating local dishes, squeezing more souvenirs into my overstuffed bag and saying goodbye to the new friends I’d made that has touched my heart in a myriad of ways. I confidently arrived at the airport for my flight with plenty of time to spare. As a chronic “run to the gate before they close the doors”, I was elated. But my flight was nowhere to be found. My flight was canceled. And I was the only one on the plane that didn’t get the memo. They tried to text me, but the area code they used to text was the local area code for my foreign phone number. I should have known.
It would have been too much to ask to have an uneventful day for the death anniversary of my dog halfway across the world. And trust me, other things went wrong on the trip, such as my laptop getting stolen in JFK’s TSA terminal right before I boarded my flight and having one of the worst food poisonings while traveling while in Senegal, likely from the baobab juice. I woke up in sweats, severe abdominal cramps and had to run to the restroom every 30 minutes in the middle of the night until I crawled because I thought I’d pass out as I felt my blood pressure plummet.
I had hoped for an uneventful dog death anniversary despite the plan to start the day in Cape Verde, spend the day in Senegal, and end the day in New York. I was reminded once again that life rarely turns out as planned and I can choose to ride the waves of the unexpected or crash hard with sand in my mouth. I spent the night with my driver-turned-friend and his family, who refused to let me spend way too much on the nearby hotel. My flight was rescheduled for 24 hours later, so I missed my connection. I spent the day sleeping, lazily watching kids play futbol until the call to prayer from the nearby mosque, watching Bollywood dubbed in French, playing with my friend’s son, arranging a new flight, trying to find coverage for my job, and barely eating because my bowels were still sensitive.
I somehow survived not only my dog’s death, but also his one year anniversary despite all the curveballs. In preparation for the one year anniversary of my pup’s passing, I imagined grand gestures such as a private memorial service, an iPhone-created movie, releasing a bit of his ashes somewhere, writing another letter, making up a song, or crying and sleeping all day. In the end, the day provided a “you can’t make this -ish up” memory instead, which is on par for the story of my life. No grand gestures were needed because Winston, which is his name, is alive in my memory and the size of my grief is synonymous with the size of my love. For I know if my love could have added years to his life, Winston would have lived forever.
Five months later, I left the country once again when I felt the familiar itch to explore an unknown land by myself. On my second day in Belize, my mother called when I had one foot out of the door for a city tour of Belize City. I was excited to taste some local cuisine and visit the rich, middle class and red zones where gangs and violence prevail.
My mom’s voice sounded odd. My grandmother was sick so I sent my mother to Florida that week to be by her side and she was getting better. I planned to visit in a few weeks. My grandmother just turned 89 but we couldn’t celebrate because she was in the ICU so I wanted to celebrate her around Thanksgiving to give thanks that God saved her life from terrible double pneumonia. She was recovering in a rehab facility. But still, my mother sounded odd.
“She’s dead isn’t she?” I was surprised by my own matter-of-fact voice. Maybe because I recognized that same voice on my mom when just six weeks earlier she called while I was in a crowded conference surrounded by 40,000 women. She sounded the same way when she announced my grandfather had passed that morning in Haiti. I dropped my phone and screamed amidst a crowd.
This time, I was alone in a hotel in Central America with a waiting tour guide. And all I could say was, “Okay. Okay. Okay,” over and over again. My mom also sounded eerily calm. My heart was in knots. I thought I had more time to see my grandmother. The tour guide was honking. I walked into the tour van in a daze. My hands trembled. I only half listened to the guide as he rattled off facts about the city. I went numb. My dearly beloved grandmother is the first person that I’ve known all my life that has passed. I felt like I was on shaky ground. What is life? I wanted to scream but the tears were lodged inside my chest, unwilling to escape.
After the tour, I spent hours rearranging my travel plans to Florida for the funeral. I contacted my job to cover my shift once again. I considered canceling the trip altogether but just like my dog, I know my grandmother would want me to enjoy what I could until I came to say goodbye. My mom asked me to do the eulogy. I felt unworthy as the granddaughter to write the eulogy and I couldn’t bring myself to do so until my flight to the funeral. Then it poured out of me in one go, unwilling to bring myself to get up to pee until I finished the entire thing in one sitting. Sitting on that plane, I recalled my trip to Belize where I had several once-in-a-lifetimes, not realizing before booking the trip that I would be traveling with fresh grief once again.
In Belize and Guatemala, I visited several Mayan ruins, including one where I was the last guest inside the thousands year old ruin before dusk, feeling all the spiritual energy the indigenes left behinds, imagining the spiritual energy my grandmother left behind. The torrential downpour in Belize and Guatemala reflected the tears that was unwilling to escape inside of me, that is until I FaceTimed my family and their wrenched cries released it all at once. “She’s no longer in pain,” I kept trying to convince myself. In the capital city of Belize, I lit a candle for my grandmother inside St John’s Cathedral, the oldest Anglican Church in Central America which was built by slaves, and coincidentally was having a funeral that day.
I climbed large slippery boulders, crossed three rivers on foot, swam underwater, waded water, jumped into sinkholes, navigated tight spaces, walked barefoot in the dry chamber and gasped in fascination when we finally reached the thousands year old Crystal Maiden, which is the skeleton of a teenage boy or girl sacrifice to the gods in the Actun Tunichil Muknal (ATM) Cave in San Ignacio. It was the most amazing cave I’ve ever experienced in my life. The vast network of underground chambers filled with water, which can easily flood, is a treasure trove for the stories that lived here of old, but also of the ecosystem that inhabited this place, such as crabs, bats, tropical fish and even flora and fauna. Not to mention the most impressive stalagmites and stalactites and column formations I’ve ever seen.
My heart was beating in my chest the entire time. Not only at the physical challenge that has led to several serious injuries inside the cave, past flash floods that have trapped guests inside, but also the ghost encounters tour guides recounted. Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed because a tourist’s camera fractured a thousand year old skull and another tourist accidentally stepped on a skull while taking a selfie.
I flew inside a small plane to witness The Great Blue Hole, the largest marine sinkhole off the coast of Belize which was a cave when sea levels were lower and is part of the Belize Barrier Reef, the second largest barrier reef in the world. I felt small both in size and time witnessing something so grand and so ancient. I was reminded that human life is so swift and brief in comparison to the natural world around us that we are so bent on destroying.
I travel to feel small. But I felt small in a different way on this trip. As I snorkeled with nurse sharks, manatees, stingrays, and fed tarpons in the second largest barrier reef in the world, I felt small because the family Matriarch and Patriarch passed on, when their fortitude and faith made me think they’d outlive us all. If they can die, what the heck am I?
“Life is indeed short. The world is indeed unpredictable. Change is indeed constant. Loss is indeed unavoidable. Grief is indeed guaranteed.” ~Me
I’ve traveled with every emotion I can think of, but traveling with grief is a strange juxtaposition of accepting the changing nature of life and the permanence of death and the ability to honor both.
Traveling while grieving is living out the Serenity Prayer:
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
In order to honor my dear pup, my grandfather and my grandmother, I shall thank them for the adventure, the wisdom, the laughter, the growth, the prayers, the sacrifices, the loyalty, the love, the provision, and the capacity to love me in ways that leave me to tears even as I write this sentence. And I will thank them by continuing to infuse my life with more love, more joy, more peace, more curiosity and more adventure.
No sprinkling of ashes necessary.
