I’m sitting here at Ronald Reagan International Airport, delayed for my return flight back home after a productive work week away from Detroit. What should have been a quick half-hour layover has turned into a nice 2-hour one, thanks to a wonderful winter storm currently hitting the Midwest.

When booking this flight, I didn’t hesitate to pick this airport as a layover since it would have gotten me back at a relatively early time on a Friday evening. However, what I failed to remember was that this airport had played a large part in the circle of my father’s life.

It was at this airport that my Dad had fallen down while rushing to catch a connecting flight … And hit his head. Three weeks — and complaints of a headache the weekend before his hospitalization — later, the whole family found out that the cause of his passing related back to that one fall.

As I sit here at the airport, I can’t help but think of what had happened here in November of 2010. How this one incident had significantly impacted my life. And it makes me sad; so very sad.

It seems so stupid to mourn like this; over a year later. I know that grief has a timeline of its own, yet somehow I feel as if something as simple as a layover shouldn’t affect me so much. A delayed flight shouldn’t cause my eyes to well up.

But it does. And once again, the grief takes over.