Shortly after I returned to California after my grandfather’s funeral, my mother called me. I could tell by the tone of her voice something was not quite right.

“Your grandmother is very sick.”

“How sick?”

“Well, if you want to see her before her funeral, you’d probably better look into getting a flight back out here.”


That was basically the conversation that took place about a month ago, but instead of my paternal grandmother being sick, it was my maternal grandfather. I booked a flight for the following week; three days before I flew home he died. So instead of visiting with him, I attended his funeral.

After hearing of my grandmother’s somewhat sudden demise, I again booked a flight. Unfortunately, the earliest I could return back to North Carolina was in a couple of weeks. Today, precisely.

Each time my parents have called since I booked my flight, I’ve wondered if I again would be attending a funeral instead of visiting with a sick relative. I leave for the airport in half an hour and still haven’t received that call yet. And, similar to my last trip back home, still haven’t packed.

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