I realize I don’t have any cheerful posts in plan and I’m sorry about that.
And so I board the plane that flies me home and it’s too air conditioned for a pregnant lady next to me to dose off in peace. She calls the hostess and asks her for a blanket into which she nestles and sleeps. In a row ahead I spotted another man who clearly was appointed a similar request; the difference however was in the fact that not only had he asked our hostess for a blanket, but he also stood up and switched his warm seat with his wife. I hadn’t known there was a she involved until she, too, stood up, apparently woken up by the inconvenient cold, brushed against him, fell into his seat, and nestled under his left arm. I’ve seen them for only three or four seconds before they disappear from my vision. He was young and youthful, she was so small and candidly wrung upon herself. There were no words exchanged; the epitome of co-existence. There was no display of affection: only pure affection with no need of display.
This moment is recorded in my heart as one of the darkest, not because of the contented souls I observed, but because of how contracted my soul was. Although I’m generally joyful upon seeing beautiful moments, this specific one a voice told me that I will never have this; that a mommy expecting her baby is sitting right next to me with a husband waiting her home, and two are sleeping arm in arm two rows ahead, and I’m here afflicted with observation, and rewarded with a void fist in my heart. Just like that I got cold like she did, and I needed a blanket I still can’t give.
Although this took place two years ago, I still remember my feeling that day. It was unusually stripped of any hope, and it was very foreign to my existence, but it had to it a sliver of truth that made it quite terrifying.
I do hope one of my dad’s prayers would catch this abysmal fall of mine soon.