Missed connections
I recently had a strange experience with a stranger on a plane that really opened my eyes to how people deal with grief.
I was flying in the crappy seat, in the middle on a 737 with strangers flanking me in the window and aisle seats. I was headed to a conference to present, and had pulled out my notes to prepare. The grandmotherly lady to my left at the window peeked over my shoulder and started asking me questions about the content of my notes.
Let me sidebar here: I'm a firm believer that air travel brings out the worst in humanity and I make it a habit to never speak to people on planes. Everyone's tired, cramped, inconsiderate, and oblivious to the fact that all other passengers are equally irritated with the shared conditions. But this lady was so nice, and I'm so passionate about the topic of the presentation (wellness and balancing the various physical, emotional, occupational, social, environmental, etc. components of our lives) that we struck up a conversation. After a few minutes she asked if I had any kids, and I paused to consider my response.
As I've posted before, this is a tough question to answer. I would typically not start this conversation with a stranger, but what the hell, I'd already broken my first rule of no communication and she was easy to talk to. I told Sweet Window Lady about Isla and she had a great response--supportive, sympathetic, and wanted to see photos--so we spent the next 10 or so minutes talking about her in all her little awesomeness.
The fifty-something year-old lady on the aisle to my right had not made a peep this whole time, and at this point she abruptly leaned over and said, "I know it's a free country but I would really appreciate it if you changed the subject." Sweet Window Lady and I were rather taken aback and we kind of looked at each other. Cranky Aisle Lady added, "I lost my son to a heart defect when he was two years old and I'd rather not hear you talk about it."
Well, iceberg Mo melted at this. I mean, what are the chances! Here was someone who presumably went through a similar terrible experience, a perfect stranger stuck next to me for a couple of hours. Someone who could empathize and not just sympathize. Someone with way more life experience than me, and decades of life lived since her loss. The lessons she could teach me! The thoughts we could share! Instinctively I reached out to touch her shoulder and express my condolences for her loss, but she whipped away as though I'd moved in to shank her.
"No, don't, I don't want your sympathy and I don't want to talk about it, but I'd just really appreciate it if you two would talk about something else." She turned away from me (meaning she shifted a centimeter closer to the aisle) and avoided eye contact. Sweet Window Lady and I sort of looked at each other, openmouthed. We awkwardly mumbled a recess from our conversation and she settled in to fake a nap.
The next THREE HOURS were excruciating. My thoughts raced and I was incredibly uncomfortable. Initially I was confused and embarrassed. Why had she gotten so angry? How much did I hurt her feelings? How long had she listened me babble about Isla? The rational part of my brain kicked in and I calculated that it couldn't have been more than 15 minutes. It wasn’t for hours, and it wasn’t as though I had been shouting or talking across her or otherwise obligating her to be a part of the conversation. Cue anger. I wanted to scream at this lady. How dare she! I was having a great, healing connection with a stranger and was able to talk happily about Isla for once. What an inconsiderate bitch!
I tried to rationalize again. She's grieving herself. She obviously has not "gotten over it", or taken many steps through grief. Maybe hearing about all the warm fuzzies I had talking about Isla and how I apply what I do in my work to my own healing was like a slap to her face. A gnawing feeling of regret started to spread in my stomach as I understood the implications of what had just transpired; the missed opportunity for us to connect over a shared experience, the fact that overhearing me might have sent her spiraling backwards into grief. Who am I to judge? I know how easily that can happen. Sometimes I'll be remembering Isla doing something cute, then in the next moment I'll be filled with anger and sadness that I can't still have her with me. I get it. Maybe if it was another day, or another moment, we could have made that connection. I felt terrible thinking about what was going on in her head at that very moment, and in despair that she wouldn't talk about it to me or anyone else.
Finally I was hit with the realization that we were stuck, literally stuck not six inches from each other, for the next three hours. It was so stupid, and so excruciating, us sitting there pointedly avoiding eye contact and being so emotionally uncomfortable that we were evaded even sharing the damn arm rest. I even wished that the plane would crash so I could extricate myself from this awful scenario. I faked a nap myself, wrote her a note of apology, tore it up, wrote her a note telling her where to stick it, tore that up, and generally ruminated through the emotions of anger, regret, sympathy, empathy, confusion, indignance, irritation, and sadness. It was the worst flight ever
When we landed, Aisle Lady grabbed her things and bolted. No communication had transpired between us since she asked us to stop talking, not a single word or a glance or anything, just rigid body language. She bolted out like the plane was on fire and she could not get away from me fast enough.
This was months ago, back in April, but I think about her almost every day. Is that what I might become? Why did my actions hurt her so much? Did it send her off the deep end? Clearly her anger and grief had been unresolved for a long time. What if it nudged her in the right direction--made her think about her son and start sorting through all the emotion that she was left with when he died. I hope that happened. I wish there were a way I could know.
Sweet Window Lady patted my knee and apologized for all the unpleasantness, told me I was a great mother and a thoughtful person and I would go far in life, and that I'd certainly have a good presentation at the conference. We hugged (me! hugging a stranger! who am I?!) and she faded into the crowd by the baggage claim.
It was altogether a strange experience, once that I hope never to repeat. It has made me more cautious about talking to strangers about Isla, for better or worse. But it's also made me more aware of how incredibly screwed up a life can become when a child dies, and more determined not to go down that path. When I feel myself slipping into the depths of grief I think about Cranky Aisle Lady and know that I need to work through it, now, head on, and not bury my emotions for the sake of comfort. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by people who encourage me to talk about her, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
Title note: humorously, if this were a dating scenario, or virtually any circumstance under which Cranky Aisle Lady would ever want to lay eyes on me again, she would write me a note to be published in the Washington Post section entitled "Missed Connections".
