We arrived home from eight days in S. Ca. where we mourned the loss of Linda's brother, Tim. We pulled into the driveway at 3:15 a.m., and caught two hours sleep before going off to work.
We had been concerned about Grandma's reaction to our being away. She had wanted to go with us, which is just not possible anymore. And she's always extremely anxious about being at home when we're away, even though Jeremy and Jon were both with her.
That evening we were talking at dinner, sharing all the stories and details of our trip. In the middle of the discussion, Grandma exclaimed, "You were gone?!"
"Yep."
"When did you leave?"
"Over a week ago."
"When did you get back?"
"This morning, very early."
"How long were you gone?"
"Over a week."
"Where did you go?"
"We went out to California."
"Well, how did you get there?"
"We took an airplane."
"Who took care of us?!"
"Jeremy and Jon stayed here with you."
"Well, what did you go out there for?!"
"Linda's brother died, so we went out for the funeral."
"He died?!"
"Yes."
"How many people were there?"
"About 250 people came to the funeral."
"Did anyone ask about me?!"
After some more questions, we ate our dessert, and continued to share some stories. After about three minutes, Grandma exclaimed, "You were gone?!"
(For the rest, please refer to above dialog).
