Fly

Yesterday was his birthday.

We used to fly over Grandma's house and "wave."
I can still feel the feeling of the plane gently rocking to wave at Grandma with its big wings.

Turbulence.
"Did you see those little boys throwing rocks in the road?"
I can still hear his voice.

The safest place to be, in the whole world, was up in the air with Grandpa.
Flying, safe and sound, with the bravest, strongest man on earth.

On our way to his memorial service, we drove by NAS-Whidbey.
He was stationed there when he met Grandma.
"See that girl over there?" he told his buddy, "I'm going to marry her."
And he did.

As we drove by, my husband and I, two Navy jets flew overhead.
"That's the sound of freedom."
(I could still hear his voice.)
One more fly-by.
Waves of grief.

So grateful to have been loved by him.  Loving him, and thinking of the precious family who loves him still.