Funeral Flight
A Trip for the Family, Not the Farewell
“Feel better? Sounds like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders until just then!”
Abruptly exiting my trance, I turned to the kind stranger sitting beside me, who acknowledged my deep sigh.
“Ah, yes,” I smiled. “Sorry about that! I’m on my way to a funeral, one I’ve been expecting for about a while now.”
“Oh?” She looked as though her comment had been unwelcome. “I’m Stella, by the way,” as if introducing herself was penance for her inquiry.
I appreciated that she didn’t try to shake hands. Doing so would most certainly have been awkward, given our proximity.
My eyes followed a clump of clouds now teasing the airplane’s wing, threatening to make it disappear.
“Nice to meet you, Stella. And don’t think anything of it. I have a habit of verbalizing thoughts before my brain processes them, usually forgetting no one asked.”
She chuckled knowingly. “What do people call you?”
I smirked with amusement while feeling a bit sheepish for forgetting to introduce myself. “Kenzie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Kenzie!”
“I’m headed back home to Boston. My husband and twin boys are already there. It’s his dad who passed away.”
I continued before Stella could offer condolences or even a response.
“My family drove up a week ago, both to be with his dad before the inevitable and to comfort his mom after. (And the twins will be a welcome distraction!) I don’t have much time off work, so I’m flying up for the service and burial this weekend, and riding home with my family.”
Stella gasped, “That’s a quick trip!”
“It’s a wonder I’m making an appearance at all. My husband’s father sure is—was—the greatest thing to happen to the universe…in his mind. Those who knew him and cared too much what he thought quickly became eggshell-walkers. I’m grateful my boys are too young and immune to caring what others think. (It’s a blessing and a curse!) If the funeral didn’t fall on a weekend, I’d be opting out. But there’s the quality time with family, too, you know? I’m looking forward to that part. A lot of our family hasn’t seen the boys since they were babies!”
She nodded knowingly. “I’m sorry for your loss, the one that happened decades ago, not the recent one. How old are your boys?”
A warmth overtook me. It felt good to be acknowledged and truly heard rather than judged. I successfully managed to hold back the tears as I whispered, “Thank you.” I cleared my throat, “The boys turned 9 this summer.”
“I’m on a work trip!”
Stella’s statement was so abrupt and matter-of-fact, it hijacked my thoughts and pulled them back to this morning when I was happily at work, dreading this very trip.
Things felt lighter now, though. “I appreciate you. I don’t know you, but I appreciate you, Stella.”
She beamed and nodded, “I’ve heard that before.”
A smile snuck onto my face as I gazed out the window again.
The overhead speaker chimed, followed by unintelligible chatter. We accepted the interruption as a 20-minute warning before landing.
All was quiet then.
My mind drifted back to my husband and the boys’ send-off last week.
I love those crazy humans. I miss them.
My excitement grew as the plane touched down abruptly. The brakes engaged, and our seatbelts did their job too well.
I gazed at the outdoor terminal of the tiny airport as we pulled closer to our gate, my eyes settling on jubilant almost-identical boys waving and cheering next to their dad as if their life depended on it. They smile from ear to ear with flushed cheeks.
My boys are a force of nature. When they’re around—especially when they’re together, drawing energy from one another—it’s nearly impossible not to notice.
As the small plane came to a halt, we stood from our seats, grabbed our carry-on items, and slowly made our way to the front.
Stella gestured for me to exit first, then she followed.
In the excitement to reconnect with my family, I’d forgotten to thank her for an unexpected and uplifting conversation.
As I turned to express my gratitude, I quickly discovered Stella was nowhere to be found.