Making the most of a missed flight

I wish I could say I at least slept well, but I didn’t. I haven’t really at all this week. So when I woke up a few minutes before 6 a.m. with my flight out of Omaha departing at 6 a.m., I was more than panicked. At the time, I at least thought my flight was leaving later, and I could make it. So I shot out of my bed, room, apartment and Lincoln like a bat out of hell. Then realized there was no possible way to make it.

I screamed an obscenity into the awakening air and drove faster as if it would help something. Finished talking to American Airlines as I merged onto I-80 and turned on the radio. At first I was calm. Something will work out. Then came short frustrated and despondent tears while on hold with AA to see if there was anything more they could do.

At some point, you have to accept that things are just the way they are. Fortunately, I save beating myself up for occasions when I really, really deserve it. I didn’t yell at God for landing me a cheap ticket and then letting me oversleep. I didn’t even hate American Airlines for not doing more to help me out. No, I had missed my flight, and that was that.

There was no reason to rush. I kept the speed limits. Calmly parked, caught the shuttle from long-term parking, got my stand-by ticket, went through security, waited.

Wind and hail had hit us the night before but affected Omaha the worst. A window in the shuttle was busted out, as were others in many of the parked vehicles. Flights were affected, so I wasn’t the only one waiting to continue my trip. As badly as I wanted to be on that plane, who was I to say that I needed to be on board more than anyone else?

For a while I just sat. Crossed my fingers every time they called out a name. Browsed my social media accounts and emails. Looked at the people around me.

A young guy in an army uniform sat behind me with what I assumed were his father and sister (or maybe girlfriend). They made small talk and laughed before the flight started to board. I didn’t stare or intrude their private moment but I could tell the hug was extra extra long, with many tears. And me already having a roller-coaster morning almost had a couple of my own. They watched him for as long as they could, the girl bursting into tears and hugging the older man for a minute.

My heart aches for people who are hurting. But the idea of actually stepping in as a stranger is often the last seemingly appropriate thing to do. As they started to walk away, the idea went back and forth in my head like a pinball between two kickers. Before I fully knew what I would say, I was catching up with them. When they turned all I could think to say was, “Tell him thank you.” I shook their hands and wished them luck. I know I added more emotion to their morning, but I hope it was more meaningful than awkward.

I imagine that as much fear and sadness goes into deployment as does bravery. And while it made me appreciate him and the many other men and women who go through that to serve their country, the connection I felt came from something different.

They knew he might not come back. And I’m worried this maybe the last big event I get to experience with both my grandparents.

Sometimes I wonder if as a Christian or romantic, I stretch and attach meaning to situations that are just rose-colored reassurances. But maybe I needed to feel and appreciate their family’s sacrifice. And maybe they needed someone to vocalize it.

As I sit in Starbucks working as a much happier camper after Chai and pumpkin bread, I’m grateful for those in the armed forces. For the pretty sunset I wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t been late. For supportive friends and family who feed me with good thoughts. For getting a cheap ticket and time off work.

And at midnight (hopefully), for finally being back in Texas.