Traveler's Tale

This story did not occur around the holidays, but it may as well be a Christmas morality tale. It is a reminder to be kind, because your kindness will last longer than you know, far beyond those few moments you invest in showing compassion for others.

A young couple waited in the airport terminal with their two-month-old son. It was an evening flight, and their baby was fussy. The tall, very lean father with a newly cultivated mustache spoke calming words to his wife as she bounced their child in her arms and made shushing noises, her long hair swaying and occasionally getting caught in the baby's fist. The babe was tired and wanted a nurse, but they would board at any moment and the new mother was uncomfortable with nursing in public. She hoped to nurse him beneath his blanket as the plane took off, helping to pop his ears during the pressure changes.

Around the young couple were gathered other travelers, mostly business men and women with compact luggage on wheels. These professional people were antsy in their own way, anxious to get home or on to the next place of business, looking at e-mails and schedules on their phones. The young couple with their colicky baby was out of place, and the noise of the child was making other passengers fidget in a new way - increasing impatience to get on the plane to their assigned seats, fervently hoping they would not be the unlucky ones seated next to the family.

A stocky man with sleek gray hair and an immaculate white dress shirt took particular notice of the infant as he paced with his jacket thrown across his shoulders. Every new wail or whimper from the babe brought a fresh look of irritation. The mother noted the man looking at her child with distaste, but she was truly embarrassed when her son's cries increased, and the stocky man gave a loud grunt of disgust, threw a last dirty look and moved to the opposite side of the terminal.

What did he expect her to do? Her son was just a little baby.

It was a relief when boarding began, and the young couple could find their seats. The mother wanted to nurse her son immediately, and her husband wanted her to have the window seat. When they got to their row, however, there was already a dark-haired young man in slacks and a leather jacket reclining in his rightful seat by the window, head back and eyes closed as he adjusted for best comfort.

"Excuse me," said the husband, "but do you mind if my wife sits there? She needs to nurse our baby, and it's more private."

The young man's eyes flew open. "Oh, sure. Of course."

He edged out, and the mother slid all the way in and began to adjust the blanket over her and her son. Her baby badly wanted a nurse but had become so frustrated that he wasn't latching on properly. Her husband bent over them to offer more protection from curious gazes as the child kicked and fussed beneath the blanket. The mother was near tears as she tried to pacify her child. The father felt he needed to say something to this man who had forfeited his seat only to be accosted by an infant's shrill wails.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is our first time flying with him. Hopefully, we'll get him calmed down soon. I know this isn't pleasant for you."

The gentleman shifted in his seat. "Listen," he said, turning his kind, handsome face toward the couple. "If that's the most I have to worry about in life, I'm good."

The husband smiled a million-watt smile. "Well, thank you,"

Gratitude did not tumble from the mother's lips, shocked as she was by this response after the other man's stark unkindness, but it expanded her heart. Her stress fell. The baby felt his mother relax, and he too calmed down presently and settled into his nurse. He slept at last as the plane navigated the black sky.

*************************************

The couple had three more children. The mother would experience many more displays of irritation or kindness from strangers, often in the same 10 minutes, while out with her children in stores, airports, or at school. There would always be those who tightened their lips, lifted their noses and gave a wide berth as she passed with her rambunctious brood, but others would come with a smile, a wistful look of "I remember those days", and easy conversation to distract the toddler from crying about candy or the older ones from sword-fighting with wrapping paper.

The woman and her husband often recalled that early sympathy and understanding from an unlikely source on an evening flight many years before, and to their fellow parents they told the tale of a young businessman who gave up his seat by the window and put things in pitch-perfect perspective on a stressful day.

Clingy and Depressed...and Moving On

How changeable we humans are!

I have gone from counting my blessings to feeling glum about almost everything since the wreck. Yesterday was the second day I felt utterly exhausted, and I can only guess that my body is sucking up calories, growing new bone to repair my rib fractures.

My follow-up appointment to see my ED/trauma docs was yesterday morning, and I was sad that I wouldn't see them again, that they were cutting me loose to face the world. These skilled people made me feel safe when my sense of safety had been severely compromised. I want to invite them to Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas brunch  - something - but they are near strangers who doubtless wish me the best but have other people, other traumas to heal.

I feel similarly about the nurses, the firefighters, the police, the EMTs. I am one more face in the crowd of traumatic human experiences, but they are more to me. They preserved my health. They took care of my children. They deserve a parade. Or a banquet.


In those first hours at the hospital post-accident, the nurses showered my kids with attention, toys and treats - a new football, a toy car, a Betty Boop doll, popsicles, chocolate milk and crackers. Oh, and a small teddy bear with a red bow that I happen to be sleeping with at the moment. I found him when I came home and christened him Michael. At night when I'm lying in the recliner (the one place where I can sleep comfortably with these ribs), he is tucked under my left arm providing cushion to the sensitive ribs. He helps me not to feel so alone when all my family is down the hall in their beds. I would like to say that this is unusual behavior for me, clinging to a teddy bear, but I have never lost touch with the child within, probably because I'm the youngest of four children.

And maybe this is why I miss our van, our poor totaled van that I used to say had a terrible engine, mediocre brakes and an awful turn radius. Still, I don't believe it deserved what happened to it at all, poor thing. I remember lolling my head side to side in the middle of the intersection, marveling at how horrible it looked with its shattered glass, exposed wires and displaced air vents. I told my husband in the hospital that I didn't want to see it ever again, even if the insurance said it wasn't a total loss. I didn't want the reminder of an unfortunate day.

But now that the insurance has declared it a total loss, I wish I had it back. It was mine, and it was reliable. And I do verily believe there is nothing more depressing than shopping for a new vehicle, nothing to make you feel so desperately mired in commercialism as dealing with salespeople. All our hopes for a good family vehicle seem to be deflated at every turn. There is so much consumer information to struggle through.

But, anyhow, I don't want to drive again as soon as I must. We were out a couple evenings ago looking at minivans and picking up supper, and I was nervous; I despised the traffic. I could not wait to run inside my home when we pulled in our driveway. But starting on Monday, I must drive again come hell or high water. I must attempt not to think about what can happen at any moment, things absolutely beyond my control. I must stop telling my husband repeatedly, "Drive safe! Please be safe. Watch out, I mean it," when he leaves me.

Well, well. I am a normal, changeable human being. The more I drive the less jumpy I'll be. The more time that passes the less clingy I'll be to this teddy bear or to the people who guarded our family's well-being at a crucial time.

Perhaps by writing the dozen and more thank you notes I need to write to family, friends, firemen, police, doctors, nurses, I will learn to let go and move on.

But tell me: what are your best ideas to say thank you to near strangers whose efforts mean so much? I would bake them each a pile of cookies, but I don't know if that's acceptable. Let me have your opinion, please.