Friday, November 1, 2013

Buh. Bye.



This morning I harnessed into my jumpseat as the engines roared and the plane coursed down the runway and lifted into flight. The SeaTac airport diminished through my portal window as we banked to the Southeast, Denver bound. It was still dark at the time of our 6:10AM departure and I could see the Seattle lights winking their goodbyes as we climbed into the brisk Pacific Northwest air. My last flight: I relaxed out of my brace position and gazed outside my galley window  reflecting over the last ten years...

***
A 13 year-old boy boarded my plane with a brand new backpack and hoodie. He was an unaccompanied minor and was assigned a window seat in my first row. A seasoned traveler for being only 13, he easily located his seat, stowed his bag, plugged in his earphones, and sat gazing down at the commotion on the tarmac. His gaze shifted upward toward the concourse windows and I could tell he had made eye contact with the parent who had just dropped him off, the parent he would be leaving behind. He didn’t smile or wave; he just sat staring. I took advantage of a lull in the boarding process and occupied the middle seat next to him. I casually rubbed his back and asked if he needed anything before takeoff. His face contorted with emotion and tears started pouring down his face. This poor boy had desperately tried to keep it together and my touch broke open the floodgates. He confessed to me the agony of leaving his Dad for a school semester with his Mom. Why couldn’t they just have worked it out? he asked. I told him I just didn’t know but that I admired his bravery. He escaped into his in-flight entertainment and, after the flight, when I walked him up the jet-bridge to be reunited with his Mom, he looked at me over her shoulder as he hugged her and gave me a rueful half-grin. It was the grin of someone who had just told a secret and who had just gotten a weight off his chest. I watched them walk away, and prayed over his torn and confusing life.

***
I got a phone call from a coworker asking if I had the following day off from work. I did, and she asked if I would be willing to fly standby to Los Angeles to pick up a little baby who was being adopted into a family in Denver. I had prearranged for this opportunity; it was a chance to dust off my Social Work degree and add a little purpose to my Pepsi-serving, trash-collecting daily duties of a flight attendant. I landed in LA in my flight attendant uniform and in my high heels I clicked my way across the mile-long linoleum corridor to the international terminal. The inbound flight from Seoul, Korea was running late. I had very little information about who I would be meeting and what this hand-off would look like. I sat nibbling on my nails and shifting my weight from side to side until finally a Korean woman holding a baby singled me out of the crowd. She was re-boarding the return flight to Seoul, so our frantic minutes were numbered. She handed me Scarlet, a 6-month old Korean baby with wild black hair and china doll skin. She explained to me in broken English that it had been a long flight; Scarlet was exhausted and agitated and she had dirtied both of her travel outfits. There was no paperwork, no file, just a grocery bag of Scarlet’s soaked onesie and a couple stray diapers. I inwardly cursed for not having thought (or had the time) to come prepared. How could I hand off this tearful, dirty little girl to her eagerly awaiting new family in Denver? 

I hoisted Scarlet on my hip and clumsily made my way back to the Frontier terminal. My own flight was scheduled to leave in less than ten minutes. I got strange looks from passengers and TSA as I heaved my way through security carrying a baby who had to have weighed 20 pounds. I was sweating and wheezing and can’t even imagine what a spectacle I was! I got on the plane and was thrilled to have the back row to myself and flight attendants working the flight who were familiar to me. We washed Scarlet’s onesie in the lavatory sink and dried it in the airplane oven. Scarlet finally succumbed to sleep in a world where nothing smelled, sounded or felt like what she had been accustomed to in her short life. When we landed, I carried this package, this gift, this wiggly new life up the escalators to a family who had the video camera rolling in order to capture the first moment Scarlet physically entered their family. The balloons and signs and tears and shrieks and hugs and hoorays filled the terminal as I stood off to the side and shed a tear or two myself. 

***
We were boarding the plane for St. Louis and dozens of passengers were wearing the same brightly-colored t-shirts reading 70th anniversary!! We watched as 4 generations of family boarded the flight and were scattered in seats throughout the aircraft. Finally, the guests of honor boarded and assumed their seats across the aisle from each other in 1C and 1D. Henry and Lucille. Henry wore leather shoes and corduroys and a fedora that was likely 50 years old. Lucille wore a dress and a strand of pearls. They both had a twinkle in their eye as they got buckled in and prepared for our flight. They ribbed each other and joked and referenced their 70 years as a couple. They held hands across the aisle as we taxied to the runway. Their grip became firmer as we took off. I made an announcement to please welcome aboard Henry and Lucille and let’s congratulate them with their monumental achievement. The plane erupted with applause and celebration and Henry just looked at his Bride and winked. 

***
I have been so focused on all the days and weeks and months that are sprawled out before me that I haven’t spent much time considering just what I will be leaving behind. I have not officially resigned; I will make that decision after Baby Boy enters our family and changes our lives forever. But today I am struck by the necessary shifting of gears into a new identity, one that might not be defined by my role as a flight attendant. As we began our descent into Denver our Captain made the usual “prior to landing” announcement. He spoke of our ETA and the weather that would be meeting us in Denver. And then he asked for the attention of the 168 passengers because he had a special announcement to make. “Today is Monica’s last flight before she leaves to have a baby. She has been part of the Frontier Family for 10 years and is among the best. She will be missed and we wish her the very best.” My coworker and dear flight attendant friend with whom I was privileged to work my last flight had already made a similar announcement and the passengers cheered and clapped and hollered. I was tearful and humbled and overflowing with gratitude as each passenger wish me well as they deplaned. I was hugged and congratulated and told I would be prayed for and I couldn’t help but agree with the Captain: Frontier, in many ways, has been my family for the last ten years. 

I assembled my bags and made my way up the jet bridge and through a bustling concourse toward our crew bus. I badged out and stood on the tarmac amidst a fleet of airplanes. The early Colorado morning was chilly and I tightened my jacket around me. DIA vanished in my rearview mirror as I drove away from my life and my identity as a flight attendant. It has been one heck of a ride. But I trust that my best journey is just ahead.  

5 comments:

  1. goodness, you got me all teary. good stories : ) glad you have some bit of rest before baby comes!!

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  2. I love your reflections Monica! You are going to be such a great mama! Your sweet baby boy is so lucky!

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  3. Awesome post. Debora and I both loved reading it. We wish you all the best in this new journey!

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  4. I'm lovin your blog Monica! You are an amazing writer, truly. Your stories come alive and their is such heart, wisdom, and encouragement in them. I look forward to reading more of it! It was such a joy to be a part of your birth story and to meet you and Eric and your beautiful boy. I hope we keep in touch. Blessings!
    -Kerrie

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