At JFK airport, I’m sitting in the waiting area at my gate. It’s crowded. Passengers, each involved in their presence, anticipate boarding at any moment. One passenger stands out.
She anxiously and seemingly aimlessly walks back and forth through the waiting area. Her face is pinched, indicating her eyes squint behind her dark glasses as she holds and examines her tickets and itinerary. She’s talking, but I can’t understand what she is saying.
By chatting with the woman seated next to me, I learned that she and her husband are from Manhattan. They’re going to Cape Elizabeth to visit their daughter, who teaches there. The husband gets up to go to the men’s room, leaving his seat vacant. Our conversation trails off as his wife reaches down, picks up her purse from the floor, and places it on the empty chair. The pacing woman is approaching, and as this all transpires, she shouts, “I’m not going to steal your stuff. You think I am, but I’m not.”
People glance over, and the woman beside me is agitated and says something to me. I don’t remember it, as I was curious about what had happened. I know it wasn’t kind, but I’m sure she was embarrassed that anyone might think she was stealing. I wonder why no officials are helping the pacing woman.
Our time comes to board. I make my way onto the plane and settle beside a nice woman from Vermont. She asked me about what had happened in the waiting area. Having no explanation, I just shrug.
The pacing woman comes up the aisle. I see she’s upset and crying. “I’m legally blind. I can’t read my ticket. I can’t find my seat. Why won’t anyone help me?”
Surely someone will help her. No one moves. “Please, God,” I say to myself. “Let someone else help. Why me?” I hear, “why not you?”
Remembering the waiting room scene, I rise and gently take the woman’s ticket. As I speak to her soothingly, we find her seat. Noting a flight attendant behind me, I take her belongings and store them under her seat. She’s calm now, settles in, and says thank you. I return to my seat.
The nice Vermont woman tells me it was nice of me to help as I wonder why the attendant hadn’t helped. Now, he approaches me. “Nicely done,” he says. I asked why he didn’t help. He identifies himself as a US Marshall and tells me it was obvious I had the situation under control. That was not how I felt at the time!
Why did I help? I have to grin at this because I know my husband would tell you I can’t stop myself. When people are suffering, that is their moment. The only moment they have. I can’t stand by and not try to make that moment better. When we help people, we let them know they are valued and seen. Kindness costs nothing but one yes after another.
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