So I'm heading back to San Diego again.
I have to. I don't want to regret not attending my grandma's funeral. I know I was just there and if we could have scheduled her death I would have requested its occurance a few days earlier when I was still there the first time. But, I certainly wouldn't have wanted to cheat my grandfather out of three and a half more days with her. I feel slightly guilty that I'll be missing church again. I mean, as a pastor's wife I kind of think my job description can be summed up in two words: Attend church. But I don't think I feel nearly as guilty as I would if I wasn't at my grandma's funeral. As the oldest of five grandchildren, I think I should be present and accounted for. I can't imagine the rest of them sitting there while I walked around my house wishing I was with them. And I'm taking my kid, of course, though I'm terribly frightened by the thought of whatever toddler shenanigan he might try to pull.
And is the cyberworld aware of the fact that airlines (or at least JetBlue and Southwest) no longer offer bereavement flights? My husband spent a good hour on the phone this morning practically begging someone to give us a break. We weren't asking for a free flight, just that they would give us aifare for the normal cost instead of the, "Hi there, I'm an idiot who forgot to book my flight until three days before my trip and so you should charge me $450 for my lack of planning" fee. I mean, I think it can be agreed upon that my Grandma's death should not constitute a lack of planning on my part. But all Troy got out of that special bonding time with the phone was an address where he could write to complain. Jim Dandy!
But he is my hero. He pretty much loathes the phone and he sat patiently waiting to speak with the JetBlue manager. He brought me home ice cream from Cold Stone last night because, even though I didn't have much of an appetite, he knew I'd go for sugar. He told me that I could go back to San Diego for as long as I wanted to, even though it kills him to be away from his boy for more than two or three days (oh I'm sure he misses me also...maybe). And when I was freaking out about the cost of airfare and yelling at Garrett who was pulling my pants off by trying to climb my leg, he took my son to the playroom and told me that it didn't matter how much I spent, since it's important to me. He's a good one, that husband.
Since moving here, I've called my Grandma once a week. She couldn't talk long because she'd start to cough, but I always told her that it was just good to hear her voice. I keep thinking about picking up the phone and giving her a call. I so wish that she would answer. That's why I have to go back, to whisper a small thank you.
Thank you for always answering the phone.