I am (literally) 33,000′ somewhere over the prairies right now, chasing the sunset back to my boys. This Country is beautiful, and best viewed from the air…

Leaving my Grandmother today was such a mixed bag of emotions: happy-sad-angry-reflective-full of love. Tears still sting just underneath the surface.

It was wonderful to see her. My Grandmother. To see my Mom again. To spend time. Anyone who interprets differently cannot grasp the nuances. My Grandmother was fierce. She was frail. She was tired. She chided my mother for not correctly using a table napkin (NOT a tissue) to cradle a dirty coffee spoon. She abhorred my lumpy green morning smoothie as possibly questionable, definitely inappropriate sustenance at best. She would not leave the restaurant until she had completed the final swish in her coffee cup, regardless of her fatigue. She was amazing.

She is also weary, and the reality is starting to bleed in. She stays at a care home reserved for those who have served our Country, and you couldn’t find a more warm, caring group. But reality bleeds. The two flagpoles at the entrance sit at half-mast, in tribute to those veterans who have recently passed on from the care home. They are always at half mast. As she said, “We are all just waiting to die”. Black, but you can’t argue the accuracy.

Having the three of us in the same airport code was a feat itself, one I am grateful for but also saddened by. It meant reconnecting with my Mom, and even though we talk every day, meant relearning the intimacy of a hug and her insistance that I was still, and always would be her baby. Of course I would be, but it gets a bit awkward when it’s an annual visit, and for a short period of time.

Being my Mom, she understood this inherently, and interpreted my trepidation not as selfish navel-gazing, but as an opportunity for us both to work harder on seeing each other more. To accept that I needed her more. That I was sad that I didn’t always get what I needed. That is what being a Mom is all about: the big and the little, and understanding everything in between, from dirty coffee spoons to navigating estrangement.

I am so proud to have come from these women; women unafraid to make their opinions known or their strength felt. Women who seized and continue to seize adventure, strength, intelligence and opportunity.

My Grandmother is in her seventh stage. (Shakespeare really did nail it) She is at times resigned and bitter to the reality. I can’t say that I wouldn’t be the same. I cannot imagine the patience she must greet each day, knowing her mind is still good, even as her body fails her. She is amazing.

And so we say goodbye, and I am blessed with kissing the sunset all the way out West. Sunsets are magical from the air: they hint of limitless beauty and possibility.

I will miss them both until the next time, and I will cherish our silly, awkward stolen photos I have of us.

Until the next time.