Wife’s grandmother died friday night. She just left to attend the funeral, 1200 + mile round trip for her, two days without a wife and mother here.

Daughter has a bit of a cold, and it’s hard on her not having Mommy for two days. Hard on me because it hurts me to see the daughter missing mommy and me being a poor imitation of a mommy.

The wife has the toughest job, though. She lost both her parents, one when she was quite young, the second only seven years ago. Still, her father got to see our daughter, got to hold her tiny body against his big chest. A pugilist from the early days, the wife’s dad had the ears and the mitts of a boxer. You knew he was scrappy when you met him. The car accident that took his knees took his wife from him, and everytime my wife makes the trip home all those memories weigh on her. He died on Thanksgiving day.

This time, it’s two trips in one month. One to watch a beloved sister-in-law falter and die, now to bury her grandmother. Grandma lived past 100, celebrated that birthday just a few months ago. All the way up, rain and weather echoing the mood I know she’s in. 16 hours in the car alone with her thoughts.

Godspeed, love of my life. Come home safe and whole in body and mind.