When my best friend passed away last year, I was incredibly devastated to see such a beautiful, young, unconditionally loving person leave this Earth. I was honored and grateful when her parents asked me to speak at the funeral service.
While flying down to the service, I had a layover in Phoenix, during which I began chatting to another person sitting next to me. Some time later I realized that it was well past the boarding time that my ticket read, and yet there had been no announcements from the service desk.
I snuck another peek at my ticket and realized every flier's worst fear - I was at the wrong gate- A13, not A18. I felt myself begin to panic as I clumsily gathered my things and began zig zagging past passengers and luggage at a speed that my heels surely weren't made to endure. I stopped abruptly at gate A18, faced with a bolted door, an empty service desk, and a window revealing the disappearing plane that was unperturbed by my absence. A plane that was supposed to be taking me to my best friend's funeral that began in a few hours.
The realization of what had occurred crushed me suddenly and completely, like a heap of snow in an avalanche.
My belongings melted off my arms as I collapsed to the floor and began screaming, shaking, sobbing uncontrollably.
I didn't think, only felt.
I'm not sure how long it had been - or how many people had stared me down incredulously- before a woman appeared by my side, rubbing my back and asking what was wrong. It took a minute or two for me to build up enough breath support to explain the relevant details that had led to this horribly awkward, uncouth scene that had attracted the attention of the few travelers without headphones in Phoenix Airport Terminal 1.
I instantly felt her genuine warmth and empathy, as she informed a nearby employee that I needed to be on the next flight to Ontario. After a few mouse clicks, he frowned at me, "I'm sorry miss, another flight doesn't leave until 3:30 PM." The funeral was at 2.
I thanked him, felt his sympathy and understanding, and yet couldn't help but feel unjustly spiteful that he was incapable of summoning a flight for me out of thin air. Defeated, I turned away, so that no one would see me guiltily descend back into my isolated, sulky world; a world where I could grasp on to what little power was still available to me, as I angrily punished myself for my own carelessness.
"That's not going to work, she needs to be there by 2. Check every other airline." said the woman, unexpectedly remaining strong and determined, in spite of my lack of faith. She didn't need my permission, she had already made a decision about what had to be done.
And check he did, because before I could even wipe the smeared mascara from my cheeks, I was being led halfway across the airport to Terminal 3, where Southwest Airlines had a flight leaving that would arrive in time for the service, with 14 minutes to spare.
My Angel (her name was Teresa) placed my weekend bag over her shoulder and smiled at me as we rode one moving walkway after another behind a placid security guard. I couldn't stop thanking her, as my appreciation for this woman multiplied with each step. "Everything's going to be just fine," she kept repeating in her comforting Midwestern accent, in between hugs.
And fine it was. My heart, muscles, and brain began to relax as I felt my body fill with an enormous rush of calmness, gratitude, humility, benevolence... in a word: euphoria. A feeling I had never completely experienced before- one that lasted the rest of the weekend, and still returns in its entirety each time I picture the event.
With Teresa's presence and kindness, I found enough strength to reboot, snap out of my pity-party, and ultimately honor my friend's life at her service. There is no question that without this woman by my side, I would have remained stranded in Airzona, without closure, filled with regret and self-hatred.
We were strangers, both passing through a city that seemed to be no more than a mere inconvenience along our journeys...and yet, we undoubtedly touched each other's lives forever.
Reminding ourselves, amongst colored iPods, overpriced snack shops, and hurried crowds, of the power that each of us has within to help, heal, and connect with one another.
