After my parents passed away, my family circle got small.
Really small. Just my dad’s sister and her husband, my dad’s mother, and the last link to my mom’s side—my grandma.
I work a lot. I can’t always be there, but I still wanted to do something special for them. So I paid for a full vacation. Flights, hotel, everything covered—my treat. I thought, If I can’t give them time, at least I can give them memories.
They were thrilled. Or so I thought.
They sent group selfies from the gate. Posted beach emojis. Said things like, “Family is everything!
” with sparkling heart filters.
I felt good. Proud even.
Then my phone rang.
It was Grandma.
She was crying.
“Honey… I’m still at the airport. They left without me. Said it was too hard to push my wheelchair all the way to the gate. They said… they’d miss the plane.”
I stood there frozen, her words echoing in my ears.
They left her.
In a waiting room.
Alone.
Still trying to believe there had to be some mistake, I texted Aunt Liz.
“Why did you leave Grandma at the airport? She’s all alone and crying.”
The reply came fast—and it hit like a slap:
“WE’RE ON VACATION. WE’RE NOT BABYSITTERS. MAYBE IF SHE WASN’T SO SLOW AND HELPLESS, SHE COULD HAVE KEPT UP. DON’T RUIN THIS FOR US.”
