Awakening at 30,000 feet
Plus, I didn't think the woman in the seat next to me, Laurie, and I would have much in common - she with her diamond rings, perfect hair, cute shoes and expensive jeans, and me with my cut-offs and flip flops, my straggly grayish hair and my much, much smaller diamond ring. I settled in for a bit with a glass of wine and a magazine.
When the flight attendant came over to ask us if we wanted digi-players, we both said yes, but when the flight attendant left, Laurie leaned over to me and said, "You might have to help me with this, I've never traveled alone before." My mind spun for a few moments trying to make sense of that. How could a grown woman have never traveled alone before?I don't recall it specifically, but knowing me, there was likely some flash of inward eye-rolling as I made assumptions about how this "fancy" woman had never traveled alone. Maybe she always traveled with her assistants, or her nannies, or she couldn't travel unless her husband was with her.None of these turned out to be true. Laurie continued. "I just lost my husband of forty years - I was with him since I was 17 years old, and we did everything together. He was my business partner, my travel partner and my best friend. And now he's gone. I guess I'll have to start getting used to this."I changed my position, looked her in the eyes and took this in.She seemed like she wanted to talk so I asked her what happened. She told me one of those stories that makes us all take a moment and recall how precious and fleeting life is. Her husband was doing nothing more than throwing some old flowers off the porch in October when he tripped and twisted his neck in such a way that resulted in him becoming a paraplegic. Laurie became his protector and care-giver. She talked about the changes she made in their house to accommodate him, how she directed the nurses and PT's around him, and how he was beginning to, against all odds, regain feeling in his feet. And then, one evening in late December, he called her over and held her hand. He said, "I'm going to sleep now, good night my love," and died.
"My god, that just happened," I responded, "You must feel like a helium balloon floating around with no where to ground." Her eyes widened. "That is exactly how I feel, exactly."
We continued to talk about her husband's death, their life together, their kids and the kids concerns for their mother, and the decision to take this vacation to Puerto Vallarta.She said, "I'm glad to be seeing these old friends, but I hope they don't expect me to be crying the whole time. I never really cry and I don't know why." I told her about other people I had worked with through bereavement who had told me the same thing and had added, "There is no amount of time that would have been enough to be with my love, so in a sense it doesn't matter when they died - whether five minutes or a hundred years, it still would never be enough." Laurie nodded, "That is how I feel. Thank you for sharing that."She continued. "But then I also am so afraid that one day I will just all of a sudden lose it, and it will be completely inappropriate and everyone will be uncomfortable." I told her that it doesn't matter when or where or if she suddenly "loses it." That is what grief does. And there is no place that is inappropriate, we just have our experience. If other people are uncomfortable with our expression of grief, that's on them and on the culture that created them, all of us, to be so distanced from the emotionality of suffering and of death. I encouraged her to just be herself, to do her grief in whatever way is authentically hers, that there was no right way. I told her about a couple of books that have been really helpful for others I know, including Joan Didion's "Year of Magical Thinking" and Karla Helbert's "Yoga for Grief and Loss."Laurie asked, "How do you know all of this stuff?" I told her about my work with grief honoring and end of life. "Oh," she said, "that must be so hard." "It's not," I replied. "It's a huge honor and opportunity to hold this precious thing that is always happening but never acknowledged." "Yes," she responded, "That's how I feel. It was such an honor."
She continued telling me about her husband and her life, and began talking about him in the present rather than the past.
She told me how they met, about their various businesses, and her plans, such as they were, for the future. She talked about how hard it would be for her to settle down for her time in Puerto Vallarta, how used to being on the go she usually was. "My kids keep telling me I won't even last a week." I assured her she would.
When we got off the plane we walked together through immigration and then hugged good-bye as she waited for her luggage. Funny to think how I likely would have judged her - of course she would have lots of heavy, expensive luggage - how I would have seen her as "other" had we not talked, and how I would have no idea what she was actually carrying. Heavy luggage indeed.
And yet, instead, I got to witness her experience, and offer her something precious from my own.
I'm thinking of Laurie today as she leaves Puerto Vallarta and returns to her home, without her husband. I am sending her powerful thoughts for strength as she enters her house alone. I am praying for her physical body to be renewed and rested from her time away. I am holding her capacity for resiliency and also her freedom to "lose it." And I am imagining for her, in a way that she likely cannot yet, a full, rich life filled with love, romance, business opportunities, friendship and yes, travel companions, for many years to come.
Onward, Laurie.
Shanthi, shanthi, shanthi.