Situations and Experiences

I am a firm believer that we cross paths with people and moments for a reason—often when we need them most, even if we don’t realize it at the time.

Monday marked the four-year anniversary of my father’s passing. It was unexpectedly heavy. The kind of day that stops you in your tracks and leaves you frozen in place. I had an idea of what I wanted to accomplish, with plans for productivity and purpose, but the only thing I could manage was laundry.

So that’s what I did.
Load after load after load.
I washed it, dried it, folded it, and put it all away. There was nothing remarkable about it—but it was something. And on a day like that, something was enough.

Yesterday, I returned to work—literally. A travel day. I approached it with intention and a hopeful heart. My delayed flight gave me time for coffee and a brisk walk through a new concourse. I walked with focus- I looked at my surroundings and had to connection to my phone.  I made it a point to smile, to say good morning to every person I passed. When I finally decided to sit at the gate, a lovely woman was seated beside me. She offered to share her newspaper, and we began to talk. You know, the normal banter of whether or not you were headed home or just visiting somewhere. 

During the course of our chit-chat she shared that her father had passed away yesterday morning and she was headed home after a lovely journey with him.

Cue the tears.

We spoke about hospice. About the sacred ground you walk when you accompany your father (or anyone) through their final days. About moments that defy explanation and settle deep into your soul. She was traveling home, grateful—so grateful—for the timing of our meeting. As I boarded the plane, I carried one clear thought with me: yesterday was hard, but today is a gift. People are a gift.

Once on the plane I was seated next to another woman and of course we struck up a conversation. She told me about visiting her family and the extraordinary bond she shares with her 19-year-old grandson who has autism. Her stories were honest, tender, and filled with awe for the magic of their relationship. I shared with her stories of our own magical middle kiddo. As we chatted I got teary (shocker I know). The stories of her relationship as grandmother to grandson was beautiful to hear about. The joy she got from being invited into his world and into his interests was incredible. More importantly her desire to join- to hear of this woman going to "flame-con" with her grandson- what a gift that is to him and to her! Her life was lived by being part of their lives. 

As the plane lifted, I couldn’t help but reflect on how both encounters felt like gentle reminders—proof that goodness exists alongside grief. That beauty can rise from pain. That life, in all its complexity, offers incredible gifts if we’re willing to notice them and take part in them. 

Life is full of these tiny moments...Ones that I fear pass most of us by as we are consumed with our phones and busy schedules. I choose to be present. To experience these moments and to share them. 

Maybe this resonates- maybe it doesn't.