We’re Headed Back to the Emerald Isle

 It’s been a long year. 

My last group of blogs focusing on my first post-COVID business trip to San Diego, ended rather abruptly because my dad passed away while I was gone. It was not sudden, he had been sick for a very long time, but losing someone you love is always painful, regardless of the person or the circumstance.  However, my dad’s death, God love him, was living proof that even in death, there can be humor.  

During the second day of my San Diego trip, my dad took a turn for the worst, and on the morning of the third day, I decided to change my flight and come home early. I was already on the fully-booked plane, waiting on the tarmac to take off, when my sister, on her way to our parents’ home in New Jersey, called me from Route 81 South, somewhere outside of Scranton, PA, to tell me that my dad has just passed away.   Even though I knew that the end was soon, I began to cry.  The poor flight attendant immediately offered me several types of alcoholic drinks, but I said that even in my grief, I was not  accustomed to beginning to drink at 11:30 am.  

Sitting next to me was a young couple on their way to a vacation in Iceland.  Immediately after I received the news, the woman, sitting in the middle seat, began rubbing my back and tried to console me.  Her partner then said that they were “just happy to be here, to support me during this difficult time.”  I thought that I was so lucky to be near such a kind couple  

Well that notion didn’t last long.

Once I stopped crying the woman nonchalantly told me that she was a “clairvoyant” and that she could feel my father’s presence with us on the plane. Had someone slapped me in the face, I wouldn’t have been knocked out of my grief so fast!  All I could think was that, “Oh my God, I have to sit next to this nut for six hours!”  She then proceeded to ask me if there was a “George” in his life, (which there was not) because that’s who my dad was currently with; whether my mother was a “pain in the ass,” which my husband later said would constitute the response of half of all married men (not him, of course) and that my dad was talking about mashed potatoes, which turned out to be the last food item he was able to eat. I’m not going to lie, that kind of freaked me out. When later telling this story to my sister and my husband, their responses were very different. My sister was in my camp of being totally freaked out by the mashed potato comment.  My husband had a different concern: Did I give her any of our banking information, such as our ATM card? 

Between the funeral, taking care of my mom, selling their house and dealing with Medicare and Social Security, neither of which is for the faint of heart, my sister and I decided to take some time to “check on their house” in Western Ireland.  We are committed to try to relax and unwind, enjoy the time together and take in the “glorious” Irish weather in January. Truth be told, after a glass of wine in the lounge, I am already loose as creamed corn.  We will see how we do after a seven hour flight and a three hour drive to the West Coast… on the opposite side of the road.  

And so, another adventure begins.



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