After a peaceful Christmas break, I felt rejuvinated, empowered to board my airplane in a collected manner and begin life as a college graduate. I also had a coupon for a free Starbucks beverage of my choice, and decided to treat myself before embarking upon my journey. The barista must have been feeling generous that day, because she gave me the largest iced latte I have ever seen in my life. I had no idea that this much caffeine would cause extreme emotional reactions, I only thought to myself, "Cool! Lots of coffee!!" But as I took my seat next to the the tiny plane window, a maelstrom of emotion welled back up within me, and I found myself in silent hysterics once more. As tears poured down my cheeks, I first thought about the vacant seat next to me where my brother ought to have been, and grieved the loss of his mobility. I thought about the months that lay ahead--unsettled, filled with question marks. Flashes of previous plane rides filtered through my memory, from my freshman trip to Boston to my tearful journey to Oxford and back. As these thoughts converged I mourned the passing of a beautiful life season, and prayed that the coming one would be just as fruitful, frightening as it seemed. I tried to be discreet with my head turned toward the window. I thought I would calm down, but caffeine was still racing through my system. I cried harder. The safety presentation began and I looked at the flight attendant in the center aisle, hoping my sopping wet cheeks wouldn't betray me. As I focused upon the woman now wearing the yellow life vest and wiped my tears, I heard a choked, southern voice next to me say, "At least ah ain't th'only one!" Startled, I turned to see a middle-aged man in work boots and a John Deere cap leaking tears down his weathered, stubbly face. Relief flooded through me--we were both emotional wrecks! I could sob to my heart's content with this stranger, joined in our mutual sorrow and anonymity!
Once both of us had regained our composure, the carpenter from Dallas told me about his unfortunate circumstances: "Ah came out hur for ma' future, but turns out, she didn' wan' me." In turn, I told him about Andrew's accident, which concerned him greatly. Without hesitation, he said "Ah'll pray fur him, fur sure. An' fur you, young lady. Yur mighty brave, an' yeh've shur brightened mah day!" Sharing grief doesn't come easily for me, let alone with complete strangers. But that airplane conversation was a moment where those groanings we know not how to pray for were answered in a tangible, if extremely human way. Thank you, Mr. Dallas angel.
