Bad News

Rennie died on the 20th of November 1996—the 56th anniversary of my marriage to James.
Rennie was 58.
Our phone rang in the middle of the night, and it was John Dan and Michelle telling me of Rennie's death. Carolyn had called Jim and Carolyn, but their phone was out of order—something to do with the computer connection. Then she called John Dan, and they called me. This was at 2 or 3 o'clock in the a.m..
I was so shocked, I had trouble getting myself together.
They asked if I wanted to meet them at DFW to fly over to Virginia, and of course, I did.
They made the reservations and I still couldn't get organized even with John's help. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. Michelle called back and told me firmly that I had to leave right then.
Finally, I left home and the traffic was terrific. Where all those cars came from at that time of day, I'll never know. It was dark and raining and I had a bad time trying to see.
I had never left a car at DFW before, didn't know how or where to go, but I finally managed that. I was late, though, and to my horror, I saw our plane take off as I was riding the tram to the station.
I grabbed my disorganized gear and started running to the gate when I saw Michelle. She was smiling and motioning to me to slow down. John Dan was on that plane and she was waiting for me to take the next plane. I appreciated her patience immensely and caught my breath.
We sat down. Looked up and there were Jim and Carolyn coming from Tulsa, and they were taking the same plane as us. Now I could relax. John Dan would be with his sister, and the rest of us were on our way.
I have often had nightmares about trying to get somewhere and couldn't. This was that nightmare: knowing our daughter needed us and we couldn't get there.
But we did.