After weeks of travel, thousands of miles and literally crisscrossing the country, even venturing north internationally, there comes a time when all you want to do is get home, kick off the shoes, get the house at least minimally in order, and then crash in your own bed with your own pillow, getting some sleep and back to your normal routine. You start thinking of what needs to happen when you get home, and you utilize those last few restful hours in the air to plan ahead. It’s time to get your thoughts in order. But on this particular last leg, that was nowhere close to happening. Indeed… nowhere close. It wasn’t restful, and I’m not sure I could hear any of my own thoughts.
It was a large plane, as often is en route to Disneyland’s host city. One of the many things I oft enjoy flying back to “The City Beautiful” is how happy so many are on the plane, seemingly anticipating coming days of frolic and fun.
We had seats toward the rear of the plane, no less. Before we sat down, we didn’t glance at the passengers behind us, but there was an immediate sense of the issue. It seemed logical — like a lady’s cough — and clearly, she had a significant frog in her throat. She was coughing approximately every 5 seconds.
I learned quickly, however, I was wrong on many counts. One, it wasn’t an adult woman and two, there wasn’t any frog in any throat. As the person began to speak more with those in her row, it seemed an elementary-aged girl, with some sort of special need. My educated guess was that this was her first time on an airplane. For as said, kids on their way to Orlando typically exhibit an obvious excitement with thoughts of that so-called “happiest place on earth,” but such was not the case for the young girl sitting in the row directly behind me. Not only was she not excited; a better word from one clearly incapable to diagnose the situation might be “traumatized.”
From the moment we boarded through the entire duration of the flight, I would discern the cough to instead be a cry. Think of it like a broken sob, that rasps and catches in the throat.. And in every third or fourth sob, there would be an added, rough quick “I wanna go home!” She didn’t want to be on the plane.
Sometimes there were ten “wanna go home’s.” Maybe more. Sometimes the sobs were more constant — less broken. It was absolutely incessant for the first 75 minutes.
Embedded, too, within the cries would frequently be a “mama” or “papa,” shared with great exclamation. More often than that was an “I need to go potty.” She was desperately trying to change her circumstances. Added midway through our flight, she starting actually naming her emotion; every few minutes now included an “I’m scared!”
Couple that constancy with the every-so-often kick of my seat, suffice it to say, this was nothing like my planned last leg home. I couldn’t help but feel for the child; this was obviously awful for her. Granted, she calmed slightly halfway through our 2 hour and 45 minute flight, but her fears never diminished and the manifestation of her emotion never did end.
Her words changed slightly the last hour, with the coughs now accompanied with an “almost there, Mom?” Then “mama” would be repeated with no response. No judgment for that parent. I can’t imagine what her life is like the other 364 days of the year.
After the plane landed and taxied to the gate, we were delayed. Passengers were ready to exit but the airport and attendants were not ready for us to get off. And so what ensued was 10-15 minutes of extra time in which most are standing, eager to disembark. Multiple minutes in, the row behind me stood, too. For the first time, I was able to see the one who had indiscreetly become the center of my attention the past few hours. She certainly got my attention now even more.
I didn’t want to stare; I didn’t want to do anything that created any more discomfort for this family. But I was amazed. I actually couldn’t tell if she was a girl or a boy. But I had accurately pegged her in scope and size; she appeared no more than 10 or 11 at most. Then she said “hi” to me. No enthusiasm. No even eye contact — just a “hi” in my direction.
I responded, of course, with what I hoped to be an authentic warmth and kindness, wanting to ensure she and her family felt more grace than anything; surely they were well aware of her disturbance. I only lived with this for a few hours; they are living it for a lifetime.
With the conversation started and all of us standing, I asked the mom who appeared a little older, “Where are you guys from?” She shared that they were coming from Minnesota. She also then told me that they were making the trip to celebrate the birthday of the girl who sat behind me.
“Tell her how old you are now,” encouraged the mother to her daughter. She gave added encouragement and instruction, as the gal struggled with words. “Tell her how old…. 3… 0… You are thirty now.”
“30,” the girl repeated. I had no idea.
Not everything is as we see it. Not everything we believe is true.
I pray that young lady found Disney to be the happiest place on earth that week. I pray, too, they felt great grace and kindness on the plane.
Respectfully…
AR