“TAKE THE BOX WITH YOU” 4/9/16

I just ended a call with a funny flight attendant friend and was thankful to see that I had only 17 passengers on my 30 minute, no-service, last flight of the night.

The gate agent was unusually jovial and we joked with a man inquiring if he had enough time for one last beer before boarding. “What a great way to end the day!” I thought to myself, looking forward to the ease of a quiet flight, as I went down the jet-bridge.

A man boarded, he discreetly, kindly mentioned that the woman who preceded him might need some assistance. I asked him to elaborate. He only added that, before boarding, she had accidentally followed him into the bathroom. She was clearly a bit frazzled and distracted.

Before we took off I asked how she was feeling and if she needed anything. She said, “No, I’m just distraught.”
Her eyes filling with tears.
It seemed obvious enough, and I thought "Ut-oh" to myself.
“Have you lost someone, ma’am?” I gently asked.
She covered her mouth with a contorted paper towel. Nodding, she silently sobbed, barely taking in air.
Touching her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”. I darted to the back of the plane, grabbed the extra Kleenex box. Unable to speak, she nodded in appreciation.

Just after takeoff, and almost completely dark, I began another conversation with her. I asked her about who had passed.


It was her son.

She had been with a family, in Maine, and was to stay with their child while they went on vacation and found out only an hour before they were to depart. She had been flying all day to get back.

I asked her about her son, his age, if he’d gone to college, if he had siblings. Tears flooded, accompanying each answer. I plucked a few tissues and they tore in to halves, all of them.
“Do you want a hug?” I asked gently. She nodded and I hugged her as tightly as I could from over the isle-side armrest, she sobbed. She thanked me and said she was going to sit and close her eyes for a few minutes.

Standing in the dark, CRJ200 galley, my face in my hands, I cried. I cried for her and her daughters.

My announcements now had a noticeably somber tinge to them. The plane emptied and I noticed she’d left the Kleenex box.
Grabbing it, I ran down the jet-bridge and the waiting passengers knowingly pointed me in her direction.
She was standing, crying and waiting for the gentleman who’d offered to assist her with her valet bag. I said, “Ma’am, take the box with you.”, as I put it directly into her open bag propped up on the chair.
She was shaking and struggling. I zipped her coat for her. “Deep breaths, in through your nose, even though I know it’s stuffed, and out through your mouth.”, I told her.
I told her we had plenty of time and we stood there and hugged. “Even though I don’t know you I can still love you.”, I said. She said, “I’m not sure I could’ve made it through that flight without you. Thank you. I’ve been traveling alone, all day.”

I ran back to get my bags and when I came back down the gentleman, a complete stranger, was consoling her as he walked her to the exit. Stopping to cry, incapable of moving, she’d mentioned these were the first moments she’d felt emotions.
I spoke to the gentleman, as he waited for her outside the ladies room. I told him that I was blown away by his genuine kindness. That I was moved to tears not only by sorrow but also to witness another person wholeheartedly participate.

As I exited the concourse, a group of women were waiting. “Are you …..?” I barely got half the question out and they all nodded, looking intensely at me, anticipating what I might say. I told them she was on her way, a gentleman was escorting her and that I could see him from where I was standing. Then, I could see them hugging.

I met her sisters, one daughter and I'm assuming a niece. They were all concerned and caring. They are family.

The last I saw, she was standing in the concourse, hugging the gentleman escorting her.

Yesterday Mitchell turned 24. He’d attended college. He was one of three children, a triplet with two sisters.