“Mile Cry Club”

From Takeoff to Tides: Riding the Waves of Healing the Best You Can

On a recent flight home after an amazing senior spring break with my daughter, I suddenly found myself sobbing in the airplane lavatory mid-flight. Sure, there were multiple logical reasons for this emotional outburst. It was nearly 2:00 am, and I was exhausted after a week-long vacation, a full day of international travel and countless delays. I could feel a cold coming on and had just finished a “happily ever after” book that left me a little weepy. But there was something deeper behind the tears. Something that came on strong and drove me to the privacy of the tiny airplane bathroom.

Whether I chalk it up to out-of-the-blue turbulence over the loss of my husband, the loneliness of exploring new destinations without him or the sting of his absence on these milestone adventures, airplane tears have become my routine since Matt passed. Trying to compose myself before heading back to my seat, I realized I’ve teared up at some point on every one of the handful of flights I’ve taken in the almost two years since he died.

Why is this? Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s the quiet isolation of cruising above the clouds or maybe it’s the way travel magnifies the absence of someone you wish were there. Something about sitting suspended between destinations, surrounded by strangers, makes the ache sharper and the memories louder. Each flight has become a space for me where joy and sorrow collide. Where I celebrate new experiences while carrying the bittersweet weight of missing my person.

Learning to “Hang Ten”

Often, these unexpected waves of grief come out of nowhere. You might be driving, walking down the street—or, in my case, soaring at 40,000 feet—when suddenly, it hits. There’s not always an obvious trigger. You don’t need to hear their favorite song or stumble across something that reminds you of them. For some reason, it just crashes over you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

But from my own journey, and from swapping stories with fellow grievers, I’ve learned a handful of ways to lessen the intensity when these waves come crashing in:

• Ride the Wave: Instead of resisting, let the emotion wash over you. Picture it as a powerful ocean wave. It will rise, crest and, eventually, fade.

• Feel It Out: Give yourself the green light to feel whatever comes—sadness, anger or even total overwhelm—without judgment.
• Care for Yourself: Lean into gentle habits like deep breathing, journaling or simply giving yourself some “me time.”
• Reach Out: Touch base with friends, family or support groups who understand that grief is not linear and has no timeline.
• Honor the Memory: Recognize that this sudden ache is proof of how very deeply you loved.

So, remember, just because those sudden, overwhelming waves of grief crash into you doesn’t mean you’re stuck or doing something wrong. It means you’re actively navigating the messy, lasting impact of losing someone who meant the world to you.

These moments, like my unintentional creation of the “mile cry club,” are proof that, even when it doesn’t feel like it, we have the courage to keep moving forward. Each wave reminds us of the depth of our love and the bittersweet ache of absence. So, ride it out, feel the feels, practice self-care and connect with others when you need to.

Grief isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a reflection of your humanity and your ability to carry both sorrow and joy on the journey. Honor that and keep trying to “hang ten.” Because healing is not about avoiding the waves but riding them with heart.