Learning to Accept Loss by Facing Death: A Transformative Travel Story

I’ve been patiently waiting to share this story with you. This month’s guest writer shares her inspiring story about traveling in Thailand, Indonesia, and Nepal following her father’s death. Her experience is the definition of transformative travel.

More often than not, travel presents you with challenges you don’t intend to face and lessons you don’t anticipate learning. These challenges and lessons change how you see the world and essentially who you are at your core.

Read on to learn more about Michelle’s transformative travel experience.

Guest post by Michelle Della Giovanna

A story about transformative travel

Eight. It’s been eight months since I held my father’s hand as he slipped from this world into the next. It’s been eight months since I heard his laugh or saw his smile. Still, I find myself looking for him. As if he’s gone on a vacation somewhere without cell phone service, and he’ll be back any day now.

To say everything has changed would be a lie. Everything is the same, and yet, it’s not.

Two months after his passing, I jumped on a plane and flew halfway across the world. It was a trip I had been planning for a year, and my family was adamant that I continue it. But how does one follow their dreams when their reality is crushing them? How do you travel the world with an open heart when yours is broken? How do you let others in when you’re building up walls just to get through the day?

For me, the answers to those questions started in Thailand

I had planned to attend a 10-day silent retreat with monks. It was on my bucket list. What I hadn’t planned was the panic attack I had the day before I arrived. I was paralyzed, trapped in a never-ending loop. My final words to my dad replayed over and over until I wanted to scream. In 24 hours I’d be sitting in silence. Sitting alone with only my thoughts was terrifying, and yet, I knew I had to do it.

If I told you my silent retreat was easy or enjoyable, I’d be lying.

Every single second of every single day took painstaking effort. I paced back and forth for hours barefoot in the sand. Walking meditation is meant to help you be mindful of every single step. A woman kept reiterating that some people couldn’t walk, so we shouldn’t take it for granted. I held back tears as my father’s face came to mind, his bedbound body trapped in our living room.

By the end of the two weeks, I felt every movement in every single step and every bit of air in every breath. Every second was beautiful. I took nothing for granted. So, I found peace. I learned to let go of the past and live in the present. I learned to accept the impermanence of everything.

Facing death when there’s no good day to die

A month after my meditation retreat, I signed up for a volcano trek in Indonesia. The trek was brutal. My legs gave out on me. The lack of oxygen threatened to choke me. The brutally cold temperatures and wind almost forced me over the edge, literally. Every sensible part of me urged me to give up, but there was something deep down that forced me forward.

At points, I wondered if my father would be able to see me if I made it to the summit. It’d be the highest I’ve ever been at 3,700m (over 12,000ft). Every single step took will and determination. Every single step made me want to give up.

In the end, when I made it to the summit, tears flowed through my eyes. I’d made it further than I thought possible. I was stronger than I knew. At the top, I whispered, “I love you” to my dad in the hopes that he could hear me.

At some point in my travels, my mantra became a bit morbid.

There’s no good day to die.

Whether it’s today or tomorrow, it’s never a good time. This realization pushed me further and further in my travels.

A month after my trek, I dared to do the thing that scared me the most. As soon as I arrived in Nepal, I signed up to go bungee jumping. Just walking across the bridge I was supposed to jump off gave me heart palpitations. Hoping it would calm me, I repeated my mantra. I knew I wanted to stand on that ledge. I knew I wanted to look death square in the eye but reality hit when I got there. My heart raced and my palms sweat. My entire body shook with fear.

Adrenaline pumped through every vein in my body. I looked over the edge and took a deep breath. In my mind, I had given up control. Whatever happened next was up to fate. As I came to terms with death, I felt at peace. At that moment, I leaned over the edge, arms spread wide, and jumped.

Originally, when I planned my trip it was about seeing pretty things and taking amazing photos. I did set out with the intention of “finding myself,” but I didn’t really take it too seriously. I had no idea what I was actually looking for.

Losing my father changed everything. It changed the way I saw things. It changed the way I thought. The loss of my father changed me.

I learned to let go of the past in Thailand, and I found my strength in Indonesia. But it was in Nepal that I learned to let go of my fears. It’s where I learned to accept the unacceptable.

Now when I think of my father, the feelings of loss and sadness are gone. They’ve been replaced with so much warmth and happiness, and I know that’s what he would have wanted.