stepping stone sunday: see the angel beside you

Last Friday morning, I had a lot on my mind as I boarded a plane for Chicago. A visit to my doctor the day before had resulted in an immediate ultrasound and biopsy and blood tests. In a hurry. Like, now. Like, don't leave and come back but we need to do this before you take another breath. I cried in that small room while the doctor explained what was going on. She sat me back down until I was calm enough to leave.

I wouldn't find out for at least a week, she said. My friend Nina made me laugh with her reaction to that news: "What? They can put man on the (expletive deleted) Moon, but they can't get labs back in an hour?"

And in that hard week, life had to go on. The bag lunches needed packing, the trips to conferences of nurses and librarians had to be taken, the new book had to be worked on, the living needed to be lived. But it was a hard day, that Thursday. I saw myself leaving John and Emma and Tess behind and felt helpless in the face of it. And harder still to wake up the next morning and leave for Chicago to give a speech about living as if you only have thirty-seven days to live. I thought for a moment about canceling, but knew I couldn't. I had a dinner planned at Topolobampo that evening with friends and thought about at least canceling that, but didn't. I decided to go, marching forward into uncertain days, like we all do all the time, except mostly we don't know it, don't remember just how uncertain they all are.

I boarded the tiny plane, so small a metal tube it should be outlawed, and found myself in a window seat. I never sit in window seats because (particularly on a teency weency plane), my claustrophobia kicks in almost immediately if someone larger than Kate Moss sits beside me in the aisle seat. I had a lot on my mind and was in no mood to talk to a seatmate. I needed to think. And obsess. And plan how I was going to get my whole house cleaned in time for the funeral and write a few more books before going.

I hoped the seat would stay empty. I couldn't imagine making small talk. Instead, a tall young man with a big jacket sat down, immediately smothering me. I held my book in my lap to distract myself: "The Devil's Highway" by Luis Urrea. He said, "that book looks interesting," and I nodded without committing to an answer, wanting to return to my hot internal obsession about my future--or lack of it. He stood up and took his jacket off, making me feel a little less claustrophobic in the small space beside him.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked. I turned to face him. "Sure," I said, slowly.

"I am terrified," he said quietly. "I've been drinking water like crazy, but my mouth is still so dry because I'm terrified of flying."

Years before, I was on a tiny plane late at night in Wyoming or Montana or one of those rectangular states out West and we were in terrible turbulence. My seatmate, a young cowboy, talked incessantly to me during the turbulence and it was only afterward that I realized he had done it to make me feel less scared, a true gift.

I put my book down and started talking to my seatmate. He hadn't flown since he was really little, but his grandmother had died and he needed to get to the funeral. His name was Mason. I asked him questions about his family and his schoolwork--he is in graduate school studying educational administration and might get his PhD in literature. He was one of the smartest people I've met, intuitive and well-read and just smart in the very best way. I kept talking to him as we took off and I could recognize his feelings of fear as we swept up into the sky, through bumpy clouds. The two bells indicating we had reached 10,000 feet sounded and he quickly faced me, "What's that for?" he asked. I realized that I needed to narrate the flight for him, and so I did. And in so doing, I had no time to worry about my own fears.

And so I narrated, realizing as I did that I know every moment of those flights, from the slight upswept feeling as you rise and escape gravity for a moment, to the two bells and the announcement that will follow, to the sound when the wheels are put into place for landing, to the four bells that indicate that you are beginning your descent. For the whole 35 minutes of the flight, we talked, with me explaining what would happen next. "Soon you'll hear a loud noise that will sound like the bottom is falling out of the plane," I said. "But that's just the wheels being lowered for landing."

The sound startled him. "I'm glad you told me," he said, "because that would've really freaked me out."

As we landed in Atlanta to catch our connecting flights, I asked, "Where are you going today, Mason?" "To Chicago," he said. To Chicago, I thought to myself.

"What a coincidence," I said, "me, too."

"Are you on the 1:30 flight?" I asked.

He pulled out his boarding pass for his connecting flight. I looked at it with him, stunned by what I saw. "Yes," he said, "the 1:30 one. You?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm on your flight. Take a look at your seat assignment."

"28B," he said.

"Now look at my seat assignment," I said as I unfolded my boarding pass.

My seat was 28C. We had not only been seatmates on the way to Atlanta, and not only were we on the same connecting flight, but we were seated side by side for the flight to Chicago, too.

That, my friends, was something more than a coincidence. That was nothing short of the provision of an angel. For both of us.

Mason and I made our way through the Atlanta airport train to our second flight. He was happy to have me guide him through the crowds and onto the train. "I wasn't sure how I would get there," he said. I showed him the way to the gate and left him to get some food while I waited at the gate. My name was called--my upgrade had come through. I went to the gate agent and explained that I'd prefer to stay in my original seat--she could give the upgrade to someone else.

And so we flew, side by side, talking, all the way to Chicago with me narrating the flight again. Two bells, four bells, no need to pay for your Coke. And here's the miracle: when we went above the clouds, he couldn't contain his amazement and wonder at what it looked like up there, looking down on the tops of clouds. "WHOA," he said, "That's incredible! It looks like an all-white landscape with mountains!"

To sit beside him was to see again. I told his story in my speech the next day in Chicago, right after reading "Say Wow When You See a Bus" to the hundreds of nurses gathered at the conference.

It was a gift, sitting beside this young very smart man, so full of wonder and fear and excitement and more.

He thanked me as we landed, for helping him.

I imagine he thought I was his angel for those two flights, but as we went our separate ways after landing in Chicago and I watched him walk away, I knew he was mine, instead.

This week, be an angel for someone. Let them be an angel for you, a stepping stone forward into their week. And know that sometimes the angel you need is the one who needs you. And sometimes, just sometimes, they are already right beside you for the trip.

(All the tests were negative, I found out a week later).

Comments

[Tara Bradford]

Patti, a beautiful story, which brought tears to my eyes. Life is just so fragile; your story helped in dealing with something going on in my own life at the moment. Yes, angels are all around us; the trick is to pay attention. So glad your tests were negative.

[Davielle Huffman]

Patti, I read this thru word by word, and at the end, my eyes were itching to cry, and my throat was tight. God bless you and the young man, for being each others' angels for the day. And thank God for those test results. -- Davielle in California

[Leslie]

Oh, Patti . . . this gave me goosebumps. What a beautiful story. :) When two people are put together, as you and your seat-mate were, it's confirmation that there's something much bigger going on, no? So comforting!

[Terri]

Wonderful--the test results and the angel.

[Jena Strong]

I love this story - where coincidence ends and angels are undeniable. But I have to tell you, I skimmed a little, waiting for the "all tests were negative" sentence at the end. Thank God.

[lynne]

wow - this made me cry (in a good way). Thanks for the beautiful story!

[Maureen]

A lovely post, concluded in the best possible way.

[Liz]

Such a lovely meditation on the idea of giving and receiving. We are at our very best not when we are 'giving' a gift, but when we are *being* a gift. When I've found myself in those situations, I can't help but be overcome by a wave of gratitude. Thanks for this beautiful story and the reminder that sometimes the best way to get out of ourselves is to pay attention to someone else.

[Di]

You once again have me with tears in my eyes..... another moving post. You are a blessing to us all. So very grateful for your negative test results...
Di

[Teri and the cats of Furrydance]

Oh, this squeezed my heart in so many ways. Thank you for being you and sharing something that will remind us to be "us" too for someone...You are special and I'm happy 'bout those test results, too!

[ann deakers]

Bless you for sharing this beautiful story. Angels really are everywhere!
Don't know if you know, but October 2nd is the feast of guardian angels, a splendid day to celebrate.

[lucy]

a lump in my throat through the whole read - tears in my eyes too. i have been pondering lately on the idea of hospitality... this made me think of the verse "and they entertained angels unaware" (or something like that). i leave on wednesday for a bit of my own traveling and imagine (& hope) i will look at the passengers alongside me with new eyes.

blessings to you and yours and the gift of negative test results. i also wonder how different this trip might have been without those worries along for the ride.

[Marcy]

What a beautiful story... and a beautiful message.

I'm so glad the tests were negative! I look forward to many more inspiring messages!

[amypalko]

I can see by the many comments that this post really hit home with many others as well as with myself. I'm going to take this message forward into the week.
Thank you so much for sharing your experience and your words, Patti.
Amy
xx

[Tracy]

This made me cry. There is nothing to do, at times like the one you described, but be your beautiful alive necessary self and say a little gratitude prayer under your breath. (So very happy for the good news at the end!!)

[Mani]

Wow. Thank you. I have been going through some really hard times, and am so grateful for the angels I keep bumping up against.

And I'm so glad your test results were negative!

[Karrie]

thank God.

thank you.

[Jan]

It seems God chose the seat mates wisely! I am thankful your tests were negative, and that your were able to calm the storms in each others souls.

We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another. ~Luciano de Crescenzo

[Acausal ConnEction]

Thanks, Patti. I have a friend who just lost her father and I know she needs an angel to help her endure the pain.

[jamie]

A year ago I was involved in asking a great deal of people how they fell in love with the world. I felt saddened by how few people said through other people. And now here you and Mason are. Here's to the moments that remind us to love.

I'm so glad you're okay.