Holy Ground


“I’ll miss you” she said.

The three words that tested my ability to hold back tears.

Heaven can’t be the only place worthy of an angelic soul. For some, there are several geographical points on the planet that they call their holy ground. I’ve lived with two angels for the past three weeks. These two angels live in Kuwait but found themselves with me, in India and India has become the holy ground worthy of not only one but two, angelic souls. Noni and Nani, my host grandparents.

People never show up late. They arrive on the dot, we’re the ones who either never see them coming or foolishly believe that the course of our own lives gives us insight on an estimated time of arrival. I met Noni and Nani on an afternoon, I woke them up from their nap despite my best efforts to silently make myself some tea and ironically, it was over tea that Nani told me, “I’ll miss you” just a few hours before I wished them good-bye—I’m terrible at good-bye.

People never show up late, they show up just in time. It’s never longer that it should be, it’s never shorter than it should be, sometimes if we’re lucky some of the angelic ones show up and stick around forever. Sometimes they come back to us and sometimes we never see them again but people never show up late. The bad ones, the good ones—they’re all invited. Each serving a purpose, each dressed to impress and each with a gift in hand. They’re there just long enough to make you believe in something, feel something or learn something and when the party is over and confetti covers the floor, it’ll be the memories that are worthy of a real celebration.

“I’ll miss you, too.” I said.

I’ll miss you, too.


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