by Travel by Gloria
I’ve often described grief like the ocean.
At times it’s calm and quiet—just a soft mist brushing against your soul.
Other times,
it’s a full tsunami crashing over you with no warning, leaving you gasping for breath and scrambling to hold on.
When my son Cody passed away, I was caught in the undertow of a storm
I didn’t see coming.

And just as I began to find footing again, I lost my mother. Years later, my
fiancé—my heart—was gone too.
Each wave has been different.
Each loss has shaped me in ways I’m still discovering.
And the hardest part? No one can ride the waves for you. You have to learn to breathe
in between the swells.
I used to resist the idea of being called strong.
People would say, “You’re so strong, Gloria,” but I never felt like I had a choice. I
wasn’t strong—I was surviving. There’s a difference. And that survival… it doesn’t
always look brave. Sometimes it looks like crying on the floor, or canceling plans, or
disappearing for a while.
But here’s what I’ve learned: there is no shame in survival.
There is beauty in bending like a palm tree in the storm. There is power in staying
rooted while the winds howl around you. And when the storm quiets—because it
always does—you’ll find you’re still here.
Travel became my place to breathe again.
To process. To heal. Especially cruising—being near the water has given me space to
simply be. I now help others find that space too. Because if you’re in the middle of
your own wave, I want to walk beside you until the storm calms.
You don’t have to be strong today.
You just have to breathe.
—
Travel by Gloria
We take the worry out of travel