I told y’all how airplanes that shake and rock and tip and drop make me worry, but I can’t let him see me worry.
There is a lot of turbulence on flight home from Minneapolis. The last time this happened, I held hands with the woman next to me, closed my eyes and took, long, deep breaths.
The young man sitting next to me is going into the 7th grade. His name is Mike. He is scared. He feels sick. He thinks he is going to throw up.
This isn’t a good time for me to look worried or ask to hold his hand while I take deep breaths so I can worry less about the impending crash.
I talk with him some about his school and where he lives. Then I ask him, “Does it help to talk or do you want me to be quiet?” He doesn’t answer, he just closes his eyes and holds the bag closer to his mouth.
His parents are one row back and on the other side of the aisle. They are comforting him. A young woman directly across the aisle offers him gum. A man in front of us offers him his Game Boy. I tell him that once we get out of the clouds, it will get better, and it does.
It helped me, to help him, instead of worry about me. Blue Eyes and the girls picked me up at the airport and all the hugs took ten minutes at least. It is very good to be home, no more worries for now.