It was crazy on that morning that I flew to Dallas for the funeral of my best friend's wife. Maybe it was because I bottled in so much emotion that week, but about ¾ of the way through the flight, I started to cry. After about a minute the little old lady in the center seat reached over and just held my hand. She never said a word and I never looked up. It was just a warm motherly squeeze. For a second I almost leaned over and put my head on her shoulder but I regained my composure and shuffled around in my seat.
She was in front of me as we walked off the plane and up the ramp. I was looking for her to just say thanks and to explain my tears, but when I got through the doors of the concourse she was gone. I looked left and right and up and down but there was no grandma. She couldn’t be that fast to disappear like that, so I moved around hurriedly trying to catch a glimpse of her. Finally I just shrugged my shoulders and kind of half expected Della Reese or that English lady from the old TV show Touched by an Angel to walk up.
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