It was the end of April, and I was preparing to celebrate the end of my third year of university. My friends and I had just finished dinner when the call arrived. “They’ve taken Grandma to the hospital, and they’ve called the family in to say goodbye. You’d better come home.”

I was three hours away. In just a few words, I went from celebrating to devastation. If everyone had already been called in, I might not make it in time. Instead of celebrating with my friends, I faced a three hour drive on my own, trying to keep my emotions in check.

I packed up as fast as I could, loaded the truck, and hit the road. Blinking back tears, I tried not to speed as I headed down the highway. The thought that repeated itself constantly was, “I hope I make it in time.” It was the longest drive of my life.

Three teary hours later, I made it. I was in time. The drive was long, but I was home. And Grandma would soon wake up and we would all be amazed at her recovery.

This post is in response to The Daily Post: Devastation.


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