I’m coming home, I’ve done my time
Now I’ve got to know what is an isn’t mine
If you received my letter telling you I’d soon be free
Then you’ll know just what to do…
It has been…a long…long road.
55 days, 51 of them without guests. Most of them spent bouncing around on a ship in the ocean with absolutely no idea what was going to happen to us. I still harbour no ill will against the company; they – and our sister line – did everything (and seriously, I mean everything, more on that momentarily), to try and fix this situation; but after this? Well, it may be time to give some serious consideration to a career that doesn’t involve travelling for a living.
It’s hard to explain what has really been going on with us for the past few weeks. After we moved from our original ship (which was fairly relaxed because we had all been together already for so long and were totally green) we were put into an environment that was nearly militaristic in nature at times. We were kept in separate cabins, we could leave for meals (which were half hour slots and the dining room was divided by ship), and twice daily temperature checks, and that’s it. We were not supposed to leave for anything other than that. Yes, people did, but it was made very clear that we were not supposed to. There were announcements regularly reminding us of this every day.
Remember what I said about “club fed”? A prison still feels like a prison, no matter how comfortable or well cared for.
But at long last, yesterday we were let off the ship.
It was a strange and bitter sweet moment really, we had been with these people for over a month in some cases, we had been each other’s only social contact, only company, for all that time. When we all finally gathered in the main dining room, hauling luggage and adjusting masks…it was a scene of organized emotional chaos.
Finally, the onboard HRM called out
Okay everyone, let’s say goodbye to the CANADIANS
And there was a room-wide cheer…and we hauled all our gear down to the gangway. On our way we were issued with gloves (“please glove up before you reach the terminal), health certificates (“in case anyone asks for it”), health questionnaires, and a massive list of requirements for how we had to self-isolate on our arrival at our final destination. We had already signed off on that list three times that I was aware of, but we signed off on it again…
And then we were on land. For the first time in what felt like a year. And there was a woman holding a huge Canadian flag as we walked out of the terminal.
It was quite the moment…
Especially for Amras and I.
You see, the truth is? It’s a miracle that Amras is in the country with me. By all predictions, he wasn’t supposed to be. He very nearly wasn’t. Those of you who follow my facebook will be aware that until the night before last, we had braced for him to have to stay in Florida. Potentially indefinitely. It took a team of I-honestly-don’t-know how many people, including the HRM of a company we didn’t even work for, the VP of the same company, and including some people extremely high up, to even make sure he got clearance onto the charter plane. And even then , the pilot of the charter plane (who was sweet) had to get him to double check. At that point, I think my heart actually stopped for a second.
When we touched down in Toronto we were prepared for a very long secondary interview (when you’re in the midst of an immigration application you always end up in secondary) and honestly I was scared…really scared. Especially when the agent on duty told me that I had to be seated elsewhere as she just wanted to talk to Amras…after all the twists and turns, after everything we’d been through…they could still turn us back. Right at this moment.
And they didn’t.
I wasn’t part of the interview, I didn’t witness the conversation. But in less time than we ever could have expected, we were standing – together – in the main arrivals terminal of Toronto Pearson…
It took a long while for that to sink in.
We aren’t home yet. Not quite. Our flight home is this evening.
And then we have to deal with the wonder that is mandatory two-week quarantine, which is extremely unpleasant on multiple levels.
But at the very least we’ll be home.
Our ordeal, finally, is over.
And on that note there is something very important that I feel like I need to give voice to at this point. For Amras and I, the rollercoaster is slowly coming to a close. For us, life will filter back to some kind of normal. For many others – hundreds of others – it’s nowhere near. There are still thousands of crew members out there, and they’re still stuck. Don’t forget about them just because you no longer have to worry about us.
And something else…Amras, me, all of our colleagues. Heck, the whole world right now – we have come out of something incredibly intense. Some would argue traumatic. It is going to leave a mark on us. On all of us. PTSD isn’t something that is just about physical wars, and it’s not just limited to soldiers. We have come from an environment that was ….pretty insane. Our freedom onboard, our ability to go home, it all depended on doing exactly what we were told, exactly when we were told to do it. A lot of you may be welcoming crew members back to your communities in the coming weeks; and if you are – please remember, we’re all feeling pretty broken still. The cracks will heal, and the emotional rollercoaster. If you know someone who’s been through this particular wringer? Keep in mind that they may not make much sense at first…they may be jumpy and easily triggered. Me? I’m still crying for absolutely no reason. Most of us have utterly no idea what kind of world we’re coming back to…because we’ve been in one that is so very different for so many weeks.
Please, be patient with us.
Be patient with yourselves.
And above all things…as always…remember to be kind.