Carry On Conversation

/ roughwighting

Carry On, Carry on luggage, blog post, Chat GPTShe stows her carry-on in the overhead compartment, then sits next to the window. Unfortunately, this is not a trip for pleasure. Nor is it for business.

Stacey sits quietly, barely acknowledging the large man who arrives to the middle seat and sits with a “thunk.” Fortunately, she’d clicked on her AirPods even before her seat belt. The soothing sounds of Mozart surround her, helping her swallow the tears that want to explode from her red eyes.

I will not cry. I will not cry. That has been Stacey’s mantra since she rose this morning at 4:30, took an Uber to the airport, strolled through the security line thanks to TSA, holding on to her carry-on as if it was a fresh heart for a sick recipient.

She sighs as she listens to the Requiem. No one stopped her as the bag moved through the x-ray machine. Who knew that a heart could get through security?

No, the bag doesn’t carry a heart, it carries a lifetime of memories, of love, and now of aching loneliness.

The bag carries the ashes of her husband.

A solid hard object pushes Stacey’s arm off the armrest. She jumps, realizing that the plane is in flight, and the big man next to her has made himself comfortable, taking over his middle seat as well as half of hers. Her aggravation, anger, and despair pulse into one hard sentence, addressed to the big lug.

“DO you MIND?”

The bald man turns toward her, his face awash in contriteness. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…., I mean, I should be more careful…”

As the man’s brown eyes peer toward Stacey with kindness and concern, she forgets her mantra. She feels the pain rise from the pit of her stomach, and a storm is released. As the music flows in her ears, tears flow down her cheeks like a different mantra. A mantra that says, “I’m lost. I’m sad. Help me.” Image by Array Heart from Pixabay

“Charles,” he shares and pats her hand, which is on her lap, and says “there, there” in a voice surprisingly soothing for a large man.

“Forty-six years,” Stacey weeps. “Forty-six years we were together.”

“Weren’t you lucky?” Charles contends, stopping Stacey’s tears like a faucet turned off with the twist of a wrist.

Stacey pulls out the AirPods. Charles waits patiently for Stacey to blow her nose and then she asks him what he means. Lucky.

“You had a long marriage. A marriage of love and children and time. So many don’t have that gift.” Charles’ voice is gentle and genuine. Stacey notices no wedding ring on his finger.

“My Grace died when she was 43,” he explains.

Chat GPT, Carry On with Heart“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Stacey pulls down the carry-on bag from the overhead bin, hugs it and then adds to the kind stranger: “I’m going to spread his ashes at his favorite hiking spots.”

Charles nods. They look ahead at nothing.

Five more hours to muse, Stacey thinks.

But wasn’t I lucky ….  46 years.

75 thoughts on “Carry On Conversation”

  3. A flight not for business or pleasure: You got me from the beginning!

    And then the Mozart Requiem. So very touching–all of it! ((( )))

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  4. Pam…thank you for this. Such a wonderful reminder that comfort can come from unexpected places, sources, people. Charles and Stacey were very real and relatable…got my eyes glistening.
    It’s true – we never know what folks are going through and travel is often thought of as a ‘pleasure trip’, but you’ve reminded us. Sometimes we’re taking loved ones home. Literally. Big hugs. Much love. 💕

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  8. I too loved this story, with no idea what to expect when I started reading. I love Mozart’s requiem, music can be more moving then words. I was widowed after forty three years with a lot to be thankful for.

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    • I think (the positive-minded person I am) that there are a lot of people like “Charles” out there, ready to listen and support a stranger in need. And yes, I think we’d all be much happier if we looked at our glass as half full, not the other way around. ❤

      Liked by 2 people

  13. A beautiful story and lessons to be heeded…It’s something I think about now that we are getting older…bittersweet and heartwarming…thanks, Pam.

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  15. A very relatable story, Pam. Despite the troubles we may be facing, someone has it worse. We often don’t know what someone may be dealing with when we meet them, a good reminder for us not to be so judgmental.

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    • Thus, I feel badly when I put my face in a book while flying (or my AirPods on listening to a book). We are in an enclosed place when on an airplane, and I’ve heard many a passenger give their life story to the stranger next to them, one row behind me.

      But your sentiment is true when someone is brusque with us in the grocery store line or walks by with a scowl on their face. Who knows what they are going through?

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  16. Your story hit me at many points, Pam! I have to admit, I listened to Mozart’s Requiem first, then “The bag carries the ashes of her husband” and 46 years of marriage got my eyes wet, but it was when Charles said, “My Grace died when she was 43” that hit my heart.

    My son-in-law kept his mom’s ashes for one year. On her anniversary, he and my daughter drove to Cannon Beach, her favorite beach, to scatter her ashes in the water. Kathy died of brain tumor. Six months prior, the doctor ordered hospice. My daughter and her husband found out when they visited her. Will decided to stay with his mom and my daughter drove 240 miles home by herself. In the following 6 months, Will never left his mom’s side. My daughter drove from Portland to Grant Pass every weekend to see them. I came up to Portland to accompany my daughter about once a month. I was with Kathy the weekend before she passed away. She told me “someone” was sitting next to me. She also said she was “going home on Monday.” Will’s cousin told me later that the angel came twice previously. What happened was that Will turned 30 the weekend before Kathy passed away. I think, she wanted to stay to see her son turned 30 and the angel honored that. Will’s dad died when he was 7. She was his mom and dad.

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    • Oh, in fact, Kathy said, “She’s sitting next to you.”

      I wanted so much to stay after Kathy told me she was “going home on Monday” but my daughter had to go to work and I had my flight going back to California, so my daughter and I drove back to Portland. On Monday, my daughter called me to let me know Kathy passed away, and she was taking the Grayhound to Grants Pass.

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    • What a BEAUTIFUL (though of course also sad sad) story of Kathy. But to have a son who loved her so much, and who made sure he was by her side those six months. That woman was very fortunate, and obviously special. Thank you for sharing her experience of seeing the Being (angels? guardian spirit?) by her side, ready to greet her. What a gift to Kathy, yes, but also to her family.

      I’m glad my story brought Kathy’s memory to you, and that you shared it here. This is what story-telling is – sharing the human experience to each other, and we all gain in strength, I believe, when we go through our own (or a loved one’s) homecoming.

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    • Ah, I hadn’t thought of it through that perspective, Nancy. Yes, what if Stacey had sat next to a grumpy person, male or female, or a seatmate who ignored Stacey and her tears? I like to believe that most of us (???) would be empathetic and lend her an ear.

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    • Writing it made me sad, too. But the message from Charles was well-received in my brain. However, I totally believe living with a ‘half-full’ glass is a better way to get through life’s ordeals.

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  22. This was a very touching story and not an easy one to write! You bring to mind in this story a truth that means so very much. Unexpected kindness from a stranger can literally change someone’s life. It bears repeating that we should practice kindness wherever and whenever we can. It might be a pat on the shoulder, a reassuring word, or simply the willingness to listen to another person’s point of view.

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  29. Many years ago I sat next to a tall man who hummed hymns throughout the entire flight. For some unbeknowst reason this experience filled me with an overwhelming sense of love and warmth. I am not religious.

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