Boarding a plane bound for Florida usually is one of my favorite things to do. The anticipation of palm trees, sunshine and my family always has me smiling as I make my way down the terminal.
Even my intense fear of flying can't put a damper on my good mood. Plus, I love those little snack-size pretzels and the in-flight magazines.
But last week, that spring in my step was noticeably missing. I didn't skip merrily to the gate like a little girl on her way home to see mommy and daddy.
This time, "going home" didn't mean spring break or Thanksgiving. It meant that I was on my way to the funeral of my beloved grandmother, who had passed away the week before.
This time, I was going home to say goodbye.
In talking with other people who have lost a grandparent, I found it comforting that many of my friends had experienced similar reactions.
Of course, there is the grief of losing a loved one -- especially when that loved one was as gracious and kind as my grandmother. We instinctively know that this person was one-of-a-kind and cannot be replaced.
But losing a grandparent often evokes emotions well beyond grief and confuses our minds and hearts as to what kind of pain we're feeling.
Perhaps the most common response I heard from my friends was the distress of watching a parent go through the loss of his parent.
Growing up, our parents act as our protectors, our role models and our comforters. They are always there to kiss the bruises, wipe away the tears and make it all feel so much better.
But what happens when the role reverses, when you need to kiss away the pain, dry the tears and make everything all right?
It's a difficult position for a child to find himself in, even when the "child" is 21 years old.
Watching a parent cry or grieve seems unnatural to us as children. We're immediately torn between wanting to comfort them and, at the same time, not wanting to alter the status quo of the child-parent relationship.
Similarly, we are torn between wanting them to grieve openly and wanting them to spare us the distress of watching them grieve.
Often, worrying about our parents forces us to contemplate our own grief a little less. For better or for worse, we don't dwell on the sadness we may be feeling.
But as our parents begin to heal and to feel better, we can turn to our own grief and confront the feelings it creates.
Losing a grandparent, unlike losing a young person, is sometimes described as "a blessing" after a long illness or as an end to "a long and happy life."
While both perspectives have lent me some comfort, neither completely dulls the sadness.
Being a generation removed, and often miles apart, it seems like sometimes our grandparents slip off to heaven before we've been able to spend enough time with them. Questions go unanswered, stories unshared.
While I know my grandmother's favorite colors and flowers, I'm still curious about the little things that made up her "long and happy life."
Who was her first boyfriend? What was the hardest decision she ever made? What song could she listen to over and over without ever getting tired of it?
And though there are certain stories and memories I've heard a million times, I'd like to hear them again.
I love the story of how my grandparents met. My grandfather was the football coach at a small country school. My grandmother was the pretty new math teacher. The players begged my grandfather to let that pretty new teacher come along to their away-games.
All piled in the car together, a football team and two young teachers, they rode to the football games together.
And fell in love.
Fast-forward a few years to the Second World War. My grandfather fought in Europe while my grandmother cared for a young child at home. Thousands of miles apart for two years, my grandparents wrote to one another every single day. To our generation, addicted to instant messenger and cell phones, this type of lasting communication is so beautiful.
I would rather get my hands on those letters than win the lottery. The letters would make me so much richer.
All four of my grandparents are gone now, and I wish I'd had just one more chance to talk with each of them. Of course, we could all wish for "just one more time" ad infinitum.
As I boarded that plane to Florida last week, I was feeling heavy-hearted and wistful. I was filled with longing for my home state, but also filled with sorrow at the loss of such a fine lady.
But as the plane climbed higher and higher into the sky, I looked out over a vast field of clouds and knew that my grandmother was somewhere among them.
Even though I miss her tremendously, heaven is lucky to have her.
I can almost see that old football team and their proud coach welcoming her with open arms.
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