Arriving at LAX with all the questions, worries and feelings that a father would have, I tossed my bag onto the sidewalk and hugged my wife goodbye. In this day and age of airport security the insular bon voyage adds insult to the injuries of 9/11/2001. How I would have loved for Mitzi to be able to accompany me to the gate. I would have given anything to have her reassuring grip on my hand and her unwavering support for whatever it is I choose to do at any given moment. Bad enough she had to stay behind in California to tend to our business and leave me to deal with what was awaiting. How hard it must have been for Mitzi to see her husband off at the Tom Bradley International Terminal on an 8000 mile flight that was not even a consideration a few hours earlier. Flying half way around the world to hear first hand what I already knew, to deal with a situation I had never dreamed about, seemed counter intuitive. Mitzi and I talk regularly about losing our parents and other older family members. We worry about how we are going to deal with the sadness, the loss and the pain. Mitzi's children, Tommy and Katie Powell, lost a half-sister earlier this year on the 15 Freeway in Corona, California to a reckless driver at 7 o'clock in the morning. Hit her from behind at 77 MPH with no apparent attempt to brake. The authorities have never been able to tell us: Was he texting? Did he fall asleep? Was alcohol or drugs involved? All are thankful that her 2 young children were not in the car as they normally would have been on a Friday morning. And again, that ridiculous term "lost" creeps into the vocabulary. They didn't lose Holly, either, she was stolen away. Still, we never thought about having one of our own biological children snatched from our reality so quickly and finally. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Does it?
It was not without trepidation that I approached the customer service representative at the Qantas check in counter. After all, I was told I had secured a seat on a flight to Sydney that would normally be over-booked within a couple of hours of the flight time. That my visa had been arranged, a process that normally takes a few days. That all I had to do was show up at the check in counter and all would be in order. One doesn't get to be 57 years old without a firm basis in "promises that are not kept" by faceless folks on the telephone. "Good evening Mr. Loe. You are traveling with us to Sydney tonight? I see you have one bag to check" was uttered by the customer service representative. I could not have been happier if she had said "I see you have the winning ticket to the Powerball lottery".
Now I had 2 hours before my flight was scheduled to depart. I decided to make my way through security and head to the gate so as to eliminate any potential delays in that process. I found the beginning of the quarter mile long line of folks waiting for scrutiny by the TSA (at least it seemed that long). Being in the international terminal there was a conglomeration of business travelers, families, young people heading out for adventure and hardly any of them looked like my neighbors in the Palm Springs area. Hundreds of lips were moving and the cacophony was hard to ignore but I heard very few words that I recognized as English while standing in the queue. No sooner had I strategically placed my carry on bag on the ground in front of me so as to be able to push it along with my foot while waiting for the serpentine mass of humanity to move along, my mobile phone alerted me of an incoming call. It was Shawn letting me know that Candi was at the terminal. Of course I could have used some company about now but discovered while speaking with Shawn that V Australia uses a nearby terminal that has been set up for international overflow and there was no access from the Bradley International Terminal. I knew that I was going to have to make the longest, loneliest plane ride of my life alone. At least, I had thought, I could have spent the remaining time before the flight with a familiar face but that was not to be.
There was a small bar/restaurant next to the Qantas gate that was in service for my trip to Sydney. Given the events over the last several hours I figured I could use a drink. Before I entered the bar I sent Mag a text: "At LAX now, leaving soon. Candi is coming too but not with me. Arrives later tomorrow via Melbourne. Any update for me? I appreciate everything you have done". I then entered the bar area and found it was standing room only. I ordered a double Stoly rocks and watched a couple of Japanese businessmen order probably the only thing they knew how in English "Budweiser" as they presented their wad of American currency for the barkeep to take what he needed. The bartender was an honest enough sort in that he only removed enough cash from the bankrolls to cover the tab. Tipping was as seemingly foreign to these two gentlemen as the Budweiser and although the bartender had the opportunity and probably the foresight to understand there would be no gratuity he returned the exact change. They grinned when the bartender handed them their open bottles of beer, grabbed every cent of their change, bowed and exited the bar area.
Over my shoulder I saw a bistro table with 2 chairs. One was empty, the other was supporting a lanky college age young man tapping away at his smartphone and nursing a beverage of some kind. I made eye contact with him in a way that my silent request for a place to sit was answered by his clearing of his personal belongings to one side of the table and motioning to the chair on the other. I brought my $13 drink over ($15 after the $2 tip), thanked him for his consideration and engaged him in conversation. I learned that he had recently taken the California bar exam, was a relatively recent graduate of Hastings, was employed by a well known San Francisco based law firm and was on his way to the Far East for one last fling before settling down to a lifetime of meetings, pleadings, court appearances and commuting. He was 25 years old, articulate and congenial. If I got his name I don't remember it. After my debriefing of him he looked me in the eye and asked me where I was headed. "My 26 year old son died today in Sydney" were the words that came out of my mouth. I surprised myself. Although I knew I didn't really know and the finality of the statement took my own breath away. "He was a lot like you; not in physical appearance but that he had his whole life in front of him, seemed to know what he wanted, intelligent, engaging, had a certain ease around people. They say he had heart failure but I don't really know." I half expected the young man to excuse himself after my statement but he looked me right in the eye and said "I'm sorry. I have some time. We can sit here and talk about anything you would like". We did, for the next 40 minutes and then he was summoned to board his flight. I bade him farewell with the compulsory statement to "enjoy your life". I then was left to my own thoughts. Did Geoff really die? Was I somehow jumping to conclusions? Is there a chance they can fix whatever it is that is wrong with him? Why did I tell this guy he had died when I don't really know myself? If he was alive, what kind of life would he have? They said his heart had stopped for as long as 50 minutes. Why do they keep saying he is "very sick"? Surely nobody could have much of a life after that kind of trauma. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound over the loudspeaker "QANTAS Flight 108 with service to Sydney, Australia is now ready for passenger boarding at gate 104. All passengers with confirmed reservations should now approach the boarding area". I grabbed my carry on, swallowed the last of my drink and made my way to gate. I checked my smart phone. No messages.
No comments:
Post a Comment