I took a trip today.

A trip back home.

It almost seemed like I stepped back in time.

Way back in 1993, 2 days before Christmas, my grandpa died while in Arizona for the winter. My 13 year old self was devastated that I didn’t get to say goodbye. It was too cold to go out to the graveside that day, and I hadn't realized until today that I had never gone back to see it. Not even when my grandma died. That day, I stayed in the church with the little kids.

The emotion I felt when I saw his stone brought me to my knees. All I could think was how I wish he had met my son. They would have been best friends. It breaks my heart that he's gone, but I can't help wondering if maybe I’ll run into him again one day, and I will KNOW it's him. I hope so. He was amazing.

After I left the cemetery I needed a little boost, so I hit another marker of my youth. One of my favorite places growing up, and a great place to hang out as a teen: The High Bridge.

The High Bridge of my youth is now closed to vehicle traffic, but not to foot traffic. The minute I walked onto the bridge I felt like I'd gone back to high school. The smells, the feel of the wood, the sound of iron wheels rolling along the train tracks. They've lined the railing with fencing, almost like people used to throw their bras off the bridge at the trains or something.

Not me, of course not.

I have no idea who would do such a thing.

I felt good when I drove away, and I cried one more time for good measure when “Joy To The World” by Three Dog Night came up on my playlist as I drove away.

Just one more memory for the road, one more man to say goodbye to.