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It is true. I have often thought of this odd dichotomy.

In war, there are many men who hate being on a given ship, but when that ship was sunk, many men felt tears in their eyes and an empty ache in their heart.

They refer to her as “She”. They lived, worked, and slept on her. They had gone on liberty, jubilantly and fun of vim and vigor running down the gangway in a cluster of uniforms, returning later that night in a happy, alcohol induced fatigue (if we were lucky) just wanting to get back to the rack and pull the curtain and close our eyes...those of us who had curtains.

I think I understand that a little. There were times I hated being where I was, but years later (just months ago, actually) I saw a drone video of the USS JFK in the mothball fleet awaiting disposition.

Her dry, lifeless, cracked and decrepit condition hurt me to see. There was something sad and feeble. She had once been full of men, working hard at jobs with a purpose, and now her sad, oxidized haze gray paint had the look of an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

No.

I think I have a feel for that.

And I think if you go down this thread and look for other men like you and I who spent time on a ship and asked them about this, you would likely find many who understand that feeling.