She picked up her suitcase.
And together, we walked toward the gate.
No one was waiting to abandon her.
No one was holding her money.
No one was deciding where she belonged.
For the first time in years, Grandma Hazel was not someone’s mother.
Not someone’s beneficiary.
Not someone’s bank account.
She was simply Hazel.
A woman who had finally learned that love could be unconditional without being unlimited.
And as she stepped onto the plane, she turned back and smiled at me.
I smiled back.
Then the doors closed.
And this time, nobody told her to go home.
