It’d been about ten years since I’d been on a plane. I texted Josh after we’d boarded and told him it was just as awful as I remembered from the last time when I’d said there’s no way I’d do it again without some kind of calming medication. I had it with me but didn’t take it. When I started crying in my seat, my sister said, “Here Beck, get your blanket..” and she leaned over toward the floor to pull it out of my backpack.

The way they cram those rows together feels completely inhumane. Once we took off and got into the air I was more or less okay. When he and I had flown before our kids seemed way too young to have both of us die. But this time they were older and I had more peace that they’d be okay. My sister and I sat leaned up against each other while she read her magazine and I rested my eyes. I watched out the window.

We’ve had a good day of getting things done. Liz and I cleaned out the bedroom that used to be where my aunt took care of my grandpa. She had a counter full of medical supplies from herself and a closet of my grandpa’s leftover items in the closet. Whatever is unopened one is able to donate. Some of it my cousin wanted to keep. At least one garbage bag was filled from his room. They still have his ashes here.

My uncle had taken a video of my aunt about 7-8 hours before she died. She was giving pillows to her granddaughters and sharing her final words and testimony with them. It was beautiful to hear her share her faith with so much clarity and love. In a way it gave me some closure to have still been able to see her before she died. I wish that we had been able to make it sooner to be able to give her the care she’d given to others.

My uncle and cousin said she’d given them a list of end-of-life symptoms to look out for earlier that day. My uncle said they all came true. I know she would’ve loved to be here but maybe by now she’s forgotten those dreams. Everyone keeps saying it doesn’t seem real and how it feels like she’s just out at the store or should be in the next room. There seems to be a comfort we didn’t anticipate where our loved ones are never fully gone.