On the morning of Friday, December 1st, I had dropped my parents off at the airport. They were heading to Atlanta for a conference. Later in the day, I drove over to work to get my schedule for the coming week. While I was heading there, Dad had rented yellow Mustang convertible for their week, and had texted me a picture of it. So I got to work, got my schedule, and hung out for a bit.
Then I got a phone call from my mom, who was crying. At first, she could barely talk, and two horrible thoughts went through my head. First, I thought she and Dad had gotten into a bad accident. Then I thought my brother, and best friend, Aaron, had gotten into an accident.
What she finally told me did not make me feel better.
Her dad, my grandpa, in Connecticut, had had a heart attack. He was in the hospital on life support.
Not long after, Dad called me. Grandma was taking him off life support, so he wouldn’t suffer.
I picked up my parents and my brother at the airport the next morning, and we went straight to Connecticut.
That side of my family is Catholic. The wake was Wednesday. The funeral was Thursday. And we came back home on Thursday night.