My Grandmother Wanted to Skydive at 60 – What She Did in the Air Shocked Everyone.

When Grandma first told us she wanted to skydive for her 60th birthday, I thought she was joking. My grandmother, the same woman who knitted scarves and insisted on wearing two cardigans in winter, wanted to jump out of a plane?

I laughed, thinking she was just trying to get a rise out of us. But I realized she was dead serious when she repeated it at dinner a week later.

“Skydiving, Mom? Really?” my mom asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she buttered a roll.

Grandma nodded with a smile that didn’t waver.

“Absolutely, Violet,” she said. “I’ve already made up my mind, so you can all either support me or I’ll find a way to do it myself. Now, can I have a chicken skewer, please?”

I was speechless. I passed her the platter and tried to figure out how to react.

I mean, my grandma had always been the adventurous type, but this seemed… extreme. Judging by their shocked faces, I could tell the rest of the family thought the same thing.

“Gran, you’re 60,” I said gently, hoping reason might sway her. “Isn’t there something, I don’t know, safer that we could do?”

She fixed her eyes on me, and there was something firm about her gaze.

“Mona, I’m 60, darling. Not dead,” she said.

She had a point, but I was terrified. I couldn’t lose her too.

Ever since Grandpa passed away a year and a half ago, Grandma had been different. She was sad, of course. But she wasn’t depressed or anything, but there was this restless energy about her.

It was like she was desperately trying to fill the space he’d left. I didn’t want to admit it, but a part of me worried that maybe this unconventional behavior was how she was dealing with her grief.

Everyone tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge. I just sat quietly as their voices got louder and louder, each trying to discourage Grandma.

“If none of you will help me arrange it,” she said finally. “I’ll stop talking to you until you do.”

And that was how we ended up on a plane two weeks later, 12,000 feet above the ground, strapped to professional skydivers and ready to leap into the air.

I was shaking so badly that my tandem instructor had to calm me down three times before the door even opened.

I glanced at Grandma, expecting her to be nervous, but she looked calm. Almost serene. The wind from the open door whipped through the cabin, but she just smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.

“Are you sure about this?” I yelled over the roar of the wind. “It’s not too late to back out!”

But Grandma just grinned at me.

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything, Mona!” she shouted back.

How can she be so calm? I thought, my heart pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

This was insane. I hated heights, and here I was!

My grandmother was about to jump out of a plane, and I was going to follow her. I swallowed hard, trying not to imagine all the things that could go wrong.

“Ready?” my instructor asked me, pulling me toward the door.

Of course, I wasn’t ready. Not even close.

But Grandma had already shuffled to the edge with her instructor, and before I could even blink, she was gone.

The crazy old woman jumped. Just like that.

“Let’s go!” my instructor yelled, and before I knew it, I was in the air too.

The rush of freefall hit me with force. The wind was roaring in my ears, and the ground so far below looked unreal. I struggled to get my bearings, but I saw my Grandma in the corner of my eye.

She was right next to me, falling through the sky like she’d done it a thousand times before.

But then something strange happened. Grandma reached into her jacket and pulled out something.

With the wind in my face and my eyes watering like crazy, I could barely see anything. But then my eyes locked on the item.

A small silver jar. My heart skipped a beat.

What was Grandma doing? I wondered.

And then, I realized what was going on.

The jar. It was Grandpa’s ashes.

In one swift motion, she unscrewed the lid, and I watched as she held the jar high above her head. The ashes burst into the wind, scattering across the sky and dancing in the sunlight as they floated away.

I couldn’t help it, and I started crying.

We were in mid-flight, with the wind whipping my face and tears streaming down my cheeks. My body felt weightless, from the fall and the moment.

That moment.

It was like I was watching something sacred, something so personal that it didn’t seem real. I was falling through the sky with my grandmother.

And she was releasing my Grandpa’s ashes into the world. Letting him be free.

The wind carried his ashes far and wide, blending with the clouds, disappearing into the vastness.

I barely registered the parachute opening or the gentle tug of being pulled upright as we drifted back toward the ground. All I could think about was that jar and how I’d never known this was what Grandma had planned.

If I’d known, I wouldn’t have put up such a big fight. Or I would have helped the family understand sooner.

We landed softly on the ground, and my instructor helped me out of the harness, but my legs were shaky. I stumbled over to where my grandmother had just touched down.

Her eyes were red, but her face showed she was at peace.

“Gran,” I choked out.

“Darling, why are you crying?” she asked. “This is what Grandpa wanted.”

“So, it’s true?” I asked. “Those were his ashes?”

She nodded, sniffling as she held onto me tightly.

“He always wanted us to jump together. We used to talk about it all the time. But when he got sick…” her voice trailed off for a moment.

“Before he passed, he told me, ‘Do it yourself, and let my ashes fly.’ He wanted to be up there, Mona.”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart felt like it was swelling and breaking all at once. I pulled back and looked into her eyes, trying to wrap my head around what she’d done.

“He wanted to feel the wind on his face,” she continued, her lips quivering. “And now, now he has…”

I hugged her again, tighter this time.

“I had no idea that you were going to do that,” I said.

She let out a soft laugh through her tears.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she said. “It was between him and me. And I just thought that it was time.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said as we walked back to where the rest of our family was waiting.

That night, when we were all back home, Gran and I sat in her bedroom alone.

“I know I scared you today, Mona,” she said. “But I needed to do this. For him, and for me. I needed to feel at peace.”

“I get it now,” I said. “I really do.”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling with that same mischievous spark I’d always loved.

But there was more.

While Gran and I stopped to get her medication from the pharmacy, I texted the rest of the family and told them to plan a dinner for Gran.

Even now, while we sat in her bedroom, I could see she was exhausted. Not from the jump, but from the emotions of the day.

“Gran, everyone is coming over,” I said. “We wanted to all have dinner together. Nothing special, but just a little dinner for you.”

“For me? Really?” she asked.

“Yes,” I nodded. “To honor what you did today, for Grandpa.”

After that, we went outside to see a beautiful dinner set up in the backyard.

“You deserve this, Mom,” my mother said.

“Sorry we gave you such hell about it all,” my uncle said.

In the end, we spent the evening together, eating roast chicken and veggies and more dessert than I’d ever seen on one table before.

At that moment, I realized how important it was to acknowledge everything my grandmother wanted. I didn’t know when her time would come.

What would you have done?

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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.