Lost on the Atlantic

Lost at sea.

Words I never thought I’d not only hear, but could be used to describe my situation.

Lost at sea.

But was I lost? Whispers all around me spoke about help coming. They knew of our plight. They knew of our devastation. They knew where to find us.

How could one be lost if someone knew where to look for them?

With my tears nothing but drops of ice on my cheeks, my toes and fingers were as numb as my thoughts, and yet, still as I clung to the blanket wrapped around my shoulders—the last and only belonging I had to my name.

Just as I questioned if we were truly lost, I couldn’t deny our peril as we bobbed along at the mercy of the cold waves. Our ship—the Titanic—now rested somewhere in the depths of the ice-cold Atlantic, and my husband was, perhaps, along with her.