When you look at things differently, the things you look at change

Mom, soon turning 80, asked, “Do you want to join us on a cruise?” Everyone was going: she, my stepdad and three other family members. “Maybe you’ll find a boyfriend,” mom added. I rolled my eyes.

For years, I’d wanted nothing more than to cruise the Caribbean seas—I grew up watching The Love Boat with mom, so full of fantasy, love, and adventure. I’d begged my now-ex husband to take me (that never happened). But as years passed, I started to view cruises as environmental monstrosities, and, if I’m honest, a bit scary.

She and my stepdad have traveled the world for decades … often with other family members, but never me. After years when we couldn’t be trusted together on a cruise without jabbing forks in each other’s eyeballs, she’d invited me. I could finally be trusted with the relatives.

“Sure?” I said, still unsure after pondering for weeks.

I chose to go because, after decades of pushing mom away and blaming her for my problems, I’ve recently realized she’s kind of a goddess. And now WTF am I going to do when she dies?

The question had haunted me since my mom and stepdad, bravely facing Alzheimer’s, moved across the country to live near me. This was a new stage in our parent-child relationship: The inevitability of their loss stared me in the face.

Being a recent empty nester didn’t help.

No Place to Hide

So it was that we left sunny San Diego for rainy, cold Vancouver on the M.V. Sapphire Princess. I walked the gangplank right into a lounge with dark, faded ‘70s glamour, then through a casino that allowed smoking inside—not at all what I’d expected. These garishly contrasted the all-white-and-blue Nautilus pool deck. Everything looked dated.

As performers clad in sailor uniforms danced and sang on the first night, I wondered to myself, would I be transported to Captain Stubing’s Love Boat, maybe even find romance (okay, gross), or would I frantically rush activity to activity, stuck with family members with very different tastes? Would family togetherness bring us closer, or would it just make me feel more lonely?

It turns out, all of those were true.

I asked my cousin to join me at the on-board singles event. “That’s like my worst nightmare,” she said. Yeah, mine too. So instead, we attended art history lectures and mom and I grabbed free champagne as the jewelry shop lured in customers. If my vivacious college-age daughter came, we’d have danced past midnight at Skywalker’s. Mom offered to go, but let’s be real: That’d definitely kill my vibe. We all dined together nightly, and the others attended evening musical performances—but I was curled up on my bed, swaying with the waves by 8 p.m.

Soul Search

In his iconic, postmodern critique of cruising, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, David Foster Wallace wrote, “All of the Megalines offer … a blend of relaxation and stimulation, stressless indulgence and frantic tourism … that’s marketed under configurations of the verb ‘to pamper’.” (In his 30-something wisdom, he observed that most cruise passengers are old—50ish, he said, adding, “not decrepitly old.”)

“There’s something about a mass-market luxury cruise that’s unbearably sad,” Wallace added.

He felt despair.

So did I.

Alone in my room, I found myself wondering: Why do ships designed for togetherness and relaxation evoke melancholia? Why did the obsidian seas lead to soul searching? The weather—cloudy and dull—didn’t help. Nor did the constant reminder of my differentness (since most activities I’d prefer to do, none of them did). Or the seeping awareness of my parent’s declining days—they being among the “decrepitly old.”

Obsidian doesn’t sparkle; it absorbs light. Forged from volcanic explosions, obsidian can expose what’s buried emotionally as you confront the shadow self (probably woo-woo bullshit, but work with me here).

As I stared through my porthole into the gloaming, I realized I’m counting the years ahead with my parents—with my mommy—on two hands, maybe one. I can still feel the ache in my gut from when she took away my baby “banky” when she felt I was too old for it. How will I feel when life takes my mom?

Mom’s unswervingly positive, which once drove me crazy. (Let’s face it, it can veer into self-regard.) But perhaps that very trait kept her in a relationship with me, no matter what—and there’ve been plenty of whats. In times past, I’d excoriate her for “embracing who she was” instead of listening to my side. I’d fume when she’d ignore my requests for an acknowledgement, an apology, or change. “I like who I am,” she’d respond, “Why should I change?”

Well, smack my ass and call me Judy.

Growing Into Acceptance

As someone who’s lived their life drowning in oceans of negative self-talk (which I like to call self-deprecating humor) and constantly on a mission of self-improvement, I’ve begun to realize—in my not-quite-decrepit but still oldish age—she may have a point.

We’re two extremely different women, no doubt. She’s a stoic, excessively organized, critical and discerning, never-look-back Pollyanna. I’m a quirky, autistic, adventurous, sensitive, belly button-gazing, passionately expressive soul (of course I’m a writer).

But I’ve realized I spent way too much damn time being unhappy with her, and myself. I tried to make mom who I wanted her to be—ridiculous, if you think about it—instead of accepting, even embracing, who she actually is. News flash: I can desire to improve myself, but it’s not my responsibility to make anyone else want that for themself. In the end, I’m the one who chose to miss out on those decades. Mea culpa.

And now, I’ve now been hoist by my own petard; my 30-year-old daughter is playing the same blame game, and hasn’t talked to me in more than a year. My grief is as big as this ocean.

Come Hell or Highwater

As we disembarked on our last stop in Vancouver, gray skies drizzling, I realized Wallace had it right: Yup, a cruise is definitely a “supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again.” Nearly every on-board event existed to sell, sell, sell. You can get cheap-ass coffee, but if you want espresso drinks, that’s extra. Pictures cost money. Drinks? Overpriced. But time with family? Priceless.

The memory of every one of us bursting with laughter at dinner when my mom said, in all sincerity, “I don’t have any flaws,” will never be forgotten. For better or worse, she’s always positive, and always loving herself.

Come hell or highwater, I’m going to learn to embody that.

Wallace also nailed the fact that pleasure—which cruises offer—is not the same as happiness.

But a cruise is what you make of it. Just like family.

In the end, my enjoyment came not from the all-you-can-eat buffets, but from the precious, dwindling time I got to spend with my mom and family.

And the simple joy of togetherness.