I was 15. I was blonde. I was with my family. And my grandfather was alive.

Tomorrow my father and I will catch a last minute plane ride to the Netherlands, our hometown, to attend my grandfather’s funeral on Saturday. I don’t really know what to feel.

I feel numb.

I’m going to miss my Florida the next five days. But being back in my cobble-stoned, rainy country with my dad to say goodbye to my grandfather will be good.