A mother in an airport

Grief and a stranger’s compassion

Sitting in a secluded strip of seating—away from the main gates and close to the washrooms—an older woman sat solemnly. Nobody walking by would’ve given her a second glance, hadn’t it been for her sniffling. 

She wore glasses and a light-colored sweater to keep warm. She had a kind, gentle, trustworthy face.

Something wasn’t quite right though; her eyes were full of tears. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to approach her, but I wasn’t sure if it would be rude. I sat near her and didn’t say a word.

A burly man, in his early thirties, saw her and asked politely, in an Australian accent, if she was alright.

She responded through tears, “my son died.”

My chest felt heavier. The weight of what she was dealing with grazed me, and all I could muster was a nervous grimace, followed by utter cluelessness of what to think. 

She was dealing with the worst day of her life, while the rest of the airport buzzed unknowingly around her. The Australian man spoke softly to her and hugged her. She told him how grateful she was. The man stayed by her side.

She shared that it had just happened and she was flying to where he had lived. She’d probably learned of her son’s passing earlier that day. I wondered what she’d been thinking about since. Did she think about the last call with him? His childhood and the moment he was born? His face? His voice? 

I had other questions too. Why was she traveling alone? There must have been someone in her family who could be with her.

It felt odd knowing something so significant about someone I didn’t know. She was a puzzle whose final form I could see, but every individual piece was a mystery.

She kept crying and the man comforted her. He couldn’t have been much younger than her son. The man asked her if she needed anything, and she politely declined. Minutes later, it was time for him to say goodbye. He walked away to his gate, in his t-shirt and backpack, as if nothing had happened. 

Everyone else who would see him that day would have no idea that he comforted a mother who had lost her son. Nobody would know that he had done a good thing.

She sat by herself again. I wanted to get her something, but I couldn’t muster the courage. I felt stuck. I didn’t have anything helpful to say, so I rationalized that doing nothing was best (and maybe it was). I looked away for a few moments, and when I looked back at her she was gathering her things. She might’ve been getting dinner, or maybe she was heading for her flight.

The next time I looked in her direction she was gone.