BE KIND TO ALL. EVERYONE IS FIGHTING SOME BATTLE

My husband Mark Bradshaw wrote this and i had to share. just in case it gives you a different perspective for your commute home...

I type this with my thumbs on a flight from ATL to BOS. I can't figure out whether to be deeply sad, or hopeful and joyous. I am trying for the latter.

On Saturday, just before lunchtime, I was sitting in a Delta Sky Club in Atlanta, awaiting a connecting flight home to Boston after being invited to present some study at Sor thern Methodist University in Dallas. I was a bit grumpy, because my ride to the airport had picked me up at the hotel at 4:05am, and I had not gotten to sleep until around 2:00 am. Let's consider that scenario for a moment ... I was fortunate enough to be travelling on somebody else's expense account, sitting in a very nice lounge with complementary cappuccino, popcorn, carrots, etc., but was grumpy. What an ungrateful idiot.

I was listening to music on my iphone, when I noticed a little boy of around 10-12 years old to my left, who was crying in a way that revealed he was in great pain but didn't want anyone to notice. His head was bent over to cover the tears, but his back was heaving; it was noticably sad. A lady, who I soon learned was his mother, was rubbing his back, crying also, and trying to comfort him.  It's a terrible thing to see someone in obvious intense sadness. So, maybe on instinct, maybe on low quality of character, I took my earphones out so I could eavesdrop on what was causing the little boy such pain. I am not certain I figured out all the details in the end, but I figured out enough pretty quickly. What I heard was a mother comforting her son, very likely her youngest son, a son whose sister had just died, I'm guessing she was away at college, and their family was on the way to get her from somewhere near Detroit, and then bring her back home to Atlanta. God bless the mother, who had to be in unimaginable pain herself, but was channeling all her energy to comfort her young son. There was an older boy, probably 16-17 sitting nearby, who I soon realized was the little boy's big brother. He was a typical teenager, curled up and closed off to everything. I listened to the mother talking to her youngest son about all the people who loved them that would be at the airport to meet them when they returned with his older sister. They must have been Syrian (like my in-laws), as the mother was explaining to the son how much Theta and Jado (i.e., Grandmother and Grandfather) loved him, his sister, and his brother.  And how various aunts, uncles, and cousins would be there when they returned, and would also be so happy to see him. 

The young boy stopped convulsing so much, and she asked if he needed some water, a drink from the bar (remember, he was just a kid, so amidst this immense pain of losing her daughter, she was trying to make a joke with her clearly 'underage' son), or anything to eat. He said water. She left, was away less than 30 seconds, and came back to gently ask him if he wanted still or sparkling water. That crushed me. Under normal circumstances, a mother would make an executive decision, but under theirs, she was trying to convey to him that he was being cared for dearly. I don't know what he said, but she went back to the area where the food and water were. I sat there, sadder than sad, and then glanced back and saw the kid poking around an iPhone. That made me even sadder, because I assumed that what I thought to be extreme sadness by him had been either disingenuous or, if real, quickly replaced by some Angry Birds app or other nonsense.

His mom soon returned, and I realized the ignorance of my Angry Bird assumptions. She looked at the iPhone her son was thumbing, and began saying things like, "Wow, she always did smile when she saw you," and "She definitely loved when we had dinner together." The little guy had been looking at her Facebook photos. I was crushed, and could not stop myself from crying, of course trying to hide it from all the good people around us. 

Over the next 20 minutes or so, I saw the father come back, his eyes bloodshot red, and he reported that they were all going to be able to sit together on the flight. Man, was that guy on autopilot. The mother explained to the kids that Delta must have noticed the bereavement fare and had 'made it happen.' Good for Delta.

It was time for me to head to the gate. I didn't know what to do. The now entrenched "New England" in me dictated that I keep to myself and move on as if there was nothing afoot. But that seemed the saddestu outcome possible. So, I gathered as much courage as I could, focusing on not breaking into more tears, and simply said to the mother, "I am so sorry for your loss. I apologize for eavesdropping, but I am deeply affected by what I've seen here." They said thanks, smiled out of obligation, and I departed.

Bad things happen every day, but mostly to 'other people.' You know your turn is coming, so it only makes sense that you pause briefly each day to realize how good that day is relative to others that are, hopefully, way down the road