Let's begin by saying it wasn't the best in my history. Let me also say that, after this weekend, I both love and loathe air travel.
For starters, Barry Bonds broke the home-run record on Tuesday. I was scheduled to fly out to Phoenix on Friday to spend the weekend with Mark and his family. The Nationals were playing the Diamondbacks and Sunday was Mark's birthday. That was the plan. Things did not go according to plan.
My weekend begins Thursday night while at work. I work until 9 pm on Thursdays, for those of you who don't know. I went to e-check-in to my 6am Friday flight to Phoenix, only to find it had been canceled. The option United was offering was a 6pm (yes, TWELVE hours later) flight Friday evening. I had a small meltdown, called Mark and my dad to ask if it would still be worth it to go. I called three different customer service phone numbers for the airline and spent a combined total of two hours on hold, listening to a thirty second riff of "Rhapsody in Blue" over and over...and over...and never once spoke to an actual person. Finally, at 10:30pm Thursday night, I booked my only option and went home.
I got up Friday morning and repacked so as to avoid having to check a bag. Then it got better...
The flight was scheduled to leave at 6:10pm. It finally left at 8:30pm. Before the flight left, I was: a)informed that in the wrong seat, b)told that I had never checked in (I checked in the night before online AND had my boarding pass scanned) and c)reseated behind the screaming toddler and his two sisters. Oh. Joy. I had been in a window seat, and now I was in an aisle seat. Once we were finally FINALLY in the air, I realized I had taken too much Dramamine, which made me twitchy and unable to sleep properly. Not to mention the fact that I was in an aisle seat, when I had specifically picked a window seat when I booked the flight. At this point, I hated United Airlines and all air travel in general.
I arrived in Phoenix two hours later than I had planned and Mark's family picked me up at Sky Harbor International Airport. We went out for ice cream and I thought, "Well, I'm here. Everything is fine now." Mark came home from the baseball game and we chatted for a bit, made plans for Saturday's and went to bed.
My cell phone rang at 8:30am Saturday morning. It was my mom. She says, "I have some bad news. Buddy (my grandfather) died last night. The funeral is Sunday; we think at 11. You need to get to Connecticut. We'll pay for the flights."
I absolutely lost it at this point and started crying. Not only had I just lost my grandfather, but I now had to get back on a plane (I had just gotten off a plane maybe 8 hours ago at this point), fly BACK across the country and go to a funeral. I had packed for a weekend of baseball games--I didn't have clothes for a funeral. It was Mark's birthday weekend. I wanted to be with him, not at a funeral.
I turned to Mark and said through my sobs, "I need a flight to Hartford." He sprang into action. I absolutely love my boyfriend. He is the most wonderful man in the world. After several calls back and forth to my parents, who were in the process of helping my sister move into a new apartment in Arlington (OMG!), we got me a flight to Hartford that afternoon, a rental car and a flight back to Dulles on Monday. My mom offered to go to my house and pick up clothes for me. I could't think if my black suit was clean (when was the last time I wore that? I can't think...). I couldn't think if anyone would be home (did my roommate put the spare key back? I don't know). I told my mom not to worry, that I would just buy a dress in Phoenix, they have stores here.
I'd like to give a huge thanks to the Zuckerman family. Truly, truly wonderful, supportive people. Mark's dad made pancakes for breakfast and then Mark's mom took me shopping for a dress and shoes. Yes folks, I went dress shopping with my boyfriend's mom. I'll pause to let that sink in a moment. It was truly a bonding moment. I now worship T.J. Maxx. I found a lovely dress and perfect shoes in no more than 15 minutes--spent a total of $70. Awesome.
By 3:00, I was back in the air, zooming across the country on my way to Connecticut and my family. Thank heaven for the internet and the availability of last minute cross-country flights. 10 years ago, I would never have made it. At this point, I was thanking my lucky starts for United airlines and air travel. Did I mention I was getting frequent flier miles for all of this? There had to be a silver lining somewhere...
I landed in Hartford at 11:00pm and got my rental car with no trouble. It took an hour and a half to get to the hotel in Bridgeport and, amazingly, I ddin't get lost! I thought I got lost once, but it turned out I that I hadn't. I checked into the hotel and my family arrived at 2am, having driven up from DC after spending the entire day moving. We are troopers, but these are the things you do for your family.
Sunday was the funeral. Sunday was a surreal, emotional day. My sister broke down a couple of times, much to her own surprise. I think we were all more shook up than we thought. After all, hadn't we been expecting this for a long time?
A Jewish funeral is very different from a Christian funeral. First of all, there is NEVER an open casket. Second, Jews are not embalmed and we are not buried in fancy caskets--we rest in plain, pine boxes. We are also buried in shrouds, not regular clothes. At the cemetery, while the mourners are there, the casket is lowered into the ground and then there is a small ceremony. The ceremony ends with the mourners shoveling dirt onto the coffin. It is considered a mitzvah (a good deed or honor) to help bury the dead.
I have been to a Jewish funeral before, but I was very young. I don't really remember it. This one I will remember. There is no sound so eerie as that of a shovelful of dirt hitting a wooden coffin that is at the bottom of a grave. It is unmistakable. It is a hollow, empty, final sound.
After the funeral, we all went back to Grammy's apartment for a deli dinner. Lots of people visited. Most of them know me, and I know some of them. It was weird. All of my cousins, aunts, and uncles were there. Amazingly, all of us were able to get there--I had the furthest to travel. Everyone was impressed that I made it; but really, was there ever a question that I would? You just don't NOT come to your grandfather's funeral.
Monday morning we all reconvened at Grammy's for more deli (what is it with Jews and deli platters?) and good-byes. I drove the rental car back to Hartford and flew home. I picked up my car at Dulles and drove to Mark's house, where I promptly crashed. Mark arrived later that night and we slept. I took a half day off on Tuesday and I am back at work for regular hours today.
I had planned to spend three days in Phoenix with my boyfriend and his family, watching baseball. Instead I spent 17 hours in Phoenix, 14 hours in transit, and a day and a half in Connecticut for Buddy's funeral. I still feel very out of it and numb. I'm mildly depressed. This has affected me more than I expected. I've been thinking lately about ways that I am like Buddy, and it makes me happy. He was a sweet, kind, artistic man. I like being like him.
