Lonely Airport

                      

            As I prepare to fly to Indiana to visit relatives, I remember my first flight without Alan last year. While looking back, I realize I have grown through my grief and am able to face the single life a little better.

            Last year when tears began to spill, I hurried into the restroom to avoid stares and to be alone. Of course, I was already alone in the bustling airport. People milled about while I grieved. Memories  slammed me.

            At security, I waited in the long line. With hands over my head like a criminal, the machine scanned me. Like previous times, an attendant patted me down. After repacking my items and putting on my shoes, I hurried to the shuttle.

            At the end of the ride, a sign read Gates 70-90. It couldn’t be. Gate 121 wasn’t listed. Along with a group of four, we all searched for the missing gate.

            If I’d been with Alan, I would have been at the correct gate. We complemented each other and with two heads were able to navigate airports around the world.

            Loneliness joined me as I waited with the other wanderers for a returning shuttle. I hated the thought of going back through security to get to my correct gate. Thankfully, I had plenty of time before my flight was to leave.

            When I rushed to get in the security line, I heard a voice calling out urgently, “Lady!”

            I turned. One of my lost companions pointed to an overhead sign with my gate number. I didn’t have to return through security but just get on a different shuttle. I thanked her and stepped onto the train. What a relief.

            At the end of the ride, I found my gate easily. With an hour and a half before departure, I waited. Grief gripped me and I remembered countless airports with Alan. We talked, laughed and rested. How I missed him.

            I struggled again to keep tears from flowing but they trickled. Couples held hands. Talked of their adventures while I sat alone.

            My newspaper tried to distract me. A bit of food filled my stomach but nothing filled the cavern in my heart. I looked forward to seeing my family in Indiana, but the first step of traveling alone was daunting.

            On the plane, a young woman sat by the window beside me. She kept staring at me and then asked to get out. For some reason, she wanted another seat. Was I scary?

            A couple took the two seats next to me. I read to keep my mind occupied which helped the sadness lift a little.

            After the plane touched down, I called my cousin. While I walked through the terminal, I noticed people in wheelchairs.  They reminded me of the last trips with my parents when mother needed assistance. I pushed more unwelcome memories aside.

            At the curb, I waited again. Cars came and dropped passengers off. After several minutes, my cousin came out of the terminal looking for me.

            In my clouded state of mind, I had once more followed the wrong signs. I stopped at departures instead of where she waited at arrivals.

            Would my mind clear over time? Would I continue to be in a fog of grief?

            Being with my extended family in Indiana, helped in my healing. We talked of my parents and of Alan. I visited places I had lived and played as a child. Though sad at times, being with loved ones in familiar surroundings comforted me.

            As I return to Indiana, I know I have traveled further on the grief journey this past year. But more grief awaits as I visit those who have recently lost their spouses and parents too. We will share an unwelcome but common bond.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.

Psalm 34: 4 NIV

           

Dear Father, be with me as I travel alone. I know you are with me in all circumstances. Amen