A few days ago, while I was sitting at the airport in
Chicago reading a book on my phone and awaiting my flight to Omaha, a lady sat
down next to me. At first, I did not even look at her. But, once she started
making calls and describing the events of the day to others (including missing
her plane and having to wait for several hours for her next flight), I started
losing my concentration, and unwillingly, listening to her conversation. I
intentionally had selected a small table where the likelihood of someone
joining me would have been low. Had she
been quiet and not distracting me from my book, I would have been totally fine
with her joining me, however, she was kind of loud and hard to ignore. I was
contemplating whether I should move to another location when she abruptly
addressed me and asked me why I was not charging my phone since there was an
outlet next to my phone (apparently, the outlet had been the main attraction
for her). Once I was faced with such a question, I had to turn my head and
actually establish eye contact with her. She was a middle-aged lady like myself,
with a sweet and beautiful visage. I was immediately taken by her and explained
to her that my phone was almost fully charged. But, she insisted on her
request, and for some unknown reason I decided to oblige her and took my
charger out of my bag and plugged it in. Once she was satisfied that her request
had been fulfilled, she started talking to me about her trip, her children,
etc. Her name was Barbara and she was on her way to Niagara Falls with some
friends to celebrate her 60th birthday.
She told me she had six children (three boys and three
girls) and three grandchildren. In response, I told her how lucky she was. After
hearing my words, she paused for a few seconds and said she was indeed blessed.
I found out the reason for her short pause a few minutes later when she showed
me pictures of her family and friends at the pool party for her birthday. When
introducing her daughters, she mentioned she had lost her oldest daughter six
years ago to sleep apnea. When I heard that, I immediately told her about Shahdi,
and soon, we were both in tears, hugging each other in the middle of a busy
airport. We were two mothers who had experienced the worst in life and who
truly understood each other’s pain and grief. We ended up talking for half an hour or so
until I had to leave to catch my flight. We exchanged information so we could
stay in touch.
The last thing she told me before we parted was that the
suicide of my daughter was not my fault and that I had to try to find some joy
in life. Very profound advice coming from a woman whose heart fully understood
my heart. I just wish it were easy to follow her advice.
The best strategy for dealing with our grief is the
continuous distraction of our mind. Barbara has managed to achieve it more
effectively than I have because she has all of her remaining children living under her roof so she can see them every day and be there for them if they need
her.
Since that incident, I have been thinking about Barbara and
the odds of meeting her in an airport filled with thousands of people at that
moment in time; how she found me, or how we found each other. Was it by chance,
or did she appear on my path to relay that message to me? Who really knows? Had
I been religious, I would have thought that Providence had surely had a hand in
arranging such an encounter with her as a messenger. However, since I am not, I
have to attribute this meeting to chance. When Barbara sat down next to me, she
had no idea she was sharing the table with another member of the Unfortunate
Mother’s Club.
I would cherish our chance meeting at O’Hare airport for the
rest of my life and hope to see Barbara the next time I am in southern
California. Maybe it is true that people appear on your path in life for a
reason.
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