Tears were running down my cheeks as I gathered my belongings after a man insisted that I get up from my seat because my granddaughter was crying uncontrollably. A teenage lad then offered me his business class seat. That ruthless man’s face turned white at what followed.
My 65-year-old life has been a haze of loss, restless nights, and never-ending anxiety for the past year. Shortly after giving birth to her beautiful baby, my daughter died. Her body just gave out during birth, despite her best efforts.
I went from being the mother of a healthy adult daughter to being her newborn child’s only guardian in a matter of hours.
The immediate events that followed only made matters worse. The father of the child, my daughter’s husband, was unable to cope. Once in the hospital, I saw him hold his daughter. Gently, he put her back in the bassinet after glancing down at her small face and whispering something I couldn’t hear. He had trembling hands.
He was gone the following morning.
He didn’t stay for the burial preparations or bring her home with him. He merely left a handwritten note stating that I would know what to do and that he wasn’t suited for this type of life on the chair in my daughter’s hospital room.
I didn’t see him again after that.
My granddaughter was then put in my arms, and all of a sudden, she was mine. I became her only remaining parent, and she became my duty.
I gave her the name Lily.
I sobbed uncontrollably the first time I called her name aloud following my daughter’s funeral. When my daughter choose the name in the seventh month of her pregnancy, she told me it was straightforward, endearing, and powerful—all qualities she hoped her little girl would possess.
I now feel as though I’m reviving my daughter’s voice every time I mutter “Lily” while rocking her to sleep at three in the morning.
It has not been simple to raise Lily. Since my own daughter was little, I had forgotten how pricey babies can be. Before I can even count, every dime is gone.
I make the most of my pension by taking on odd jobs whenever I can, such as watching neighbors or assisting at the local church food pantry in exchange for groceries. On most days, though, I feel like I’m barely surviving.
After I’ve finally gotten Lily comfortable in her crib, there are nights when I sit by myself at my kitchen table and look at the bills that are laid out in front of me, wondering how I’m going to make it through another month.
Then Lily opens her large, inquisitive eyes and stirs in her bed, making those gentle tiny noises that babies make. During those times, my heart serves as a constant reminder of my motivation.
Before she knew her mother, she lost her. Before she was even a week old, her father left her. There should be at least one person in this world who will never abandon her.
I was first hesitant to accept my oldest friend Carol’s request to come visit for a week when she called from across the nation.
forcefully, “Margaret, you need a break,” she said on the phone. “You sound exhausted. Bring Lily with you. I’ll help you with everything, okay? We can take turns with the night feedings. You can actually rest for once.”
The idea of sleeping seemed like an unaffordable luxury. Carol, however, was correct. Every bone in my body was telling me that I was completely exhausted.
I somehow scraped together just enough cash for a cheap plane ticket. It would get me to her, but it wasn’t much, and the seats would be crowded.
In the end, I found myself boarding a crowded plane with Lily nestled against my chest and a huge diaper bag slung over one shoulder, fervently hoping for a few peaceful hours in the air.
Lily started to fuss as soon as we were seated in our cramped economy seats toward the rear. It was only a gentle whimper at first. But in a matter of minutes, that whine turned into sobs.
I tried every single thing that came to mind.
In my arms, I rocked her while repeatedly repeating, “Shh, Lily, it’s alright, sweetheart. Grandma’s here.”
Then, with her little clenched hands, she pushed away a bottle of formula I had prepared before boarding. Nothing helped, even though I had to carefully maneuver with hardly any breathing room to check her diaper in the cramped area.
Her screams echoed through the little hut, growing louder and more harsh. Heads started turning toward me, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
The woman sitting just in front of me tossed her head in evident irritation and sighed loudly. A man two rows above gave me a glare as if I had purposefully set out to ruin his entire flight when he looked back over his shoulder.
Humming a lullaby that my daughter used to adore as a little child, I bounced Lily gently against my shoulder while my hands trembled. I hoped that would help her stop weeping, but it actually made it worse.
There was a sense of judgment in the air of the cabin. With each cry that came out of Lily’s small lungs, I sank farther into my chair, praying I could somehow vanish.
As I pressed Lily closer to me, I kissed the top of her soft head and frantically said, “Please, baby girl, please stop crying. We’ll be alright. Just calm down for Grandma.”
She continued to cry, nevertheless.
The man sitting next to me eventually lost it at that point.
For the last few minutes he had been squirming in his seat with inflated moans. I could sense the heat coming from his annoyance. Then abruptly he turned to face me, pressing his fingers firmly into his temples.
He yelled, “For God’s sake, can you shut that baby up?” loudly enough for everyone in the seats surrounding us to hear.
I froze. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I lost my train of thought.
He went on to say, “I paid good money for this seat,” “Do you honestly think I want to spend my entire flight trapped next to a screaming infant? If you can’t keep her quiet, then you need to move. Go stand in the galley with the flight attendants, or lock yourself in the bathroom. I don’t care where you go. Anywhere but here.”
My eyes started to well up with tears. As Lily’s cries continued to echo through her small chest, I rocked her while holding her even closer.
“I’m trying,” I said haltingly. “She’s just a baby. I’m doing my very best.”
“Well, your best isn’t good enough,” he said. “The rest of us don’t deserve to suffer just because you can’t control her. Get up. Now.”
That’s when my cheeks started to burn. Rather than argue with him, I got up, holding Lily, and picked up the diaper bag. I knew I couldn’t sit close to this man, even though my legs felt weak.
The words “I’m so sorry,” I muttered.
With my arms hurting from carrying Lily’s small body, I turned toward the narrow aisle, prepared to shuffle my way to the back of the aircraft. Tears clouded my vision totally. I felt so little, so humiliated, and defeated.
However, I was abruptly stopped by a voice.
“Ma’am?”
With my knees swaying in the small aisle, I came to a halt. Slowly, I turned to see a boy standing a few rows in front of me. He was no more than sixteen years old.
Gently, “Please wait,” he urged. “You don’t need to walk to the back of the plane.”
And then Lily’s screams stopped, as though she somehow comprehended what he had said. Her cries of desperation turned into gentle whimpers and eventually to quiet. The abrupt silence was so startling after crying incessantly for almost an hour that I nearly let out a gasp.
The youngster gave us a small smile.
He extended a tiny square of paper in front of me and said, “See? She’s just tired, that’s all. She needs a calmer place to rest.” His boarding pass was it. “I’m sitting up in business class with my parents. Please, take my seat. You’ll both be much more comfortable there.”
I gaped at him in shock. “Oh, honey, I couldn’t possibly take your seat from you. You should stay with your family. I’ll manage somehow back here.”
However, he gave a firm shake of his head. “No, really. I want you to have it. My parents will understand completely. They’d want me to do this.”
I wanted to continue the argument at that time, but the unadulterated kindness in his eyes totally disarmed me.
Slowly nodding, I tightened my grip on Lily and muttered, “Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means.”
He gestured for me to advance as he cautiously moved aside. Stunned by what had just transpired, I walked passed him on trembling legs.
Two people got up to meet me as soon as we arrived at the business class area. The boy’s parents were involved.
His mother smiled warmly and kindly as she stretched out and caressed my arm. “Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe here with us. Please, sit down and get comfortable.”
His father nodded slightly in agreement and was already gesturing for a flight attendant to bring more blankets and pillows.
The difference overwhelmed me as I sunk onto the big leather seat. Compared to the claustrophobic chaos I had just fled from in economy class, the air seemed quieter here. Lily sighed deeply and for a long moment before her eyes eventually fluttered shut as I gently placed her over my lap.
Her little body relaxed for the first time in the whole flight.
I carefully warmed her bottle between my palms before presenting it to her after taking it out of the diaper bag. She caught on right away, drinking lustfully but calmly this time.
Tears trickled down my cheeks, but they weren’t tears of shame or embarrassment. They were sobs of relief and profound appreciation. And all of this was made possible by the generosity of a teenage lad who, when it seemed like no one else did, genuinely saw me.
I spoke to Lily in a whisper, “See, baby girl?” “There are still good people in this world. Remember that always.”
However, I was unaware at the time that the story was far from over. Not even close.
Because the kind teenage lad had stealthily returned down the aisle while I was sitting there in business class, rocking Lily. He then moved himself into my previous economy seat, sitting next to the same guy who had yelled at me to get out.
The man first appeared to be ecstatic about this news. With a contented grin on his face, he leaned back in his seat and mumbled, loud enough for the other passengers to hear, “Finally. That screaming baby is gone. Now I can actually have some peace.”
However, he looked sideways to see who had sat down next to him. He then froze.
His hands started to shake, and his smile vanished in an instant.
Because his boss’s adolescent son was seated there next to him, appearing perfectly collected.
“Oh, hey there,” stumbled the man. “What a surprise seeing you here. I had no idea you were on this flight.”
The boy’s head tipped a little. “I heard exactly what you said back there about the baby and her grandmother. I saw how you treated them both.”
The man appeared nearly spectral as the color faded from his cheeks.
“My parents taught me that how you treat people when you think nobody important is watching tells you everything about someone’s character,” the kid stated. “And what I saw back there? That told me everything I need to know about yours.”
The man’s voice broke as he attempted to laugh it off. “Come on, you don’t understand. That baby was crying for over an hour. It was unbearable. Anyone would have—”
“Anyone would have shown compassion,” the child forcefully interrupted. “Anyone with decency would have offered help, not cruelty.”
For the individual, the remainder of the flight was unbearably painful. He sat in stiff stillness, looking at the boy next to him every now and then, obviously afraid of what might come next.
The rumor had already begun to circulate in the cabin by the time the jet finally touched down. When the boy came back to business class to see how I was doing, he told his parents everything. He explained how the man had yelled at me, made me get up from my seat, and then loudly gloated when I eventually stood up, tears running down my cheeks.
The man who had been so nice to me earlier, his father, listened in utter quiet. However, I could tell that every time his son spoke, his look grew more solemn and somber.
In the crowded airport terminal, the manager met his employee as soon as all the passengers disembarked.
Although I didn’t hear everything that was said, I did witness the man’s face fall apart when his employer used stern, quiet voices to address him. He appeared to want to vanish as his shoulders drooped.
I was later discovered at baggage claim by the boy’s mother, who discreetly informed me of the incident. The boss had told his employee that he had no place in his company if he could intentionally treat strangers with such cruelty, especially a struggling grandmother and a helpless crying infant. He claimed that it was a bad reflection on both his leadership style and the company’s principles.
The individual lost his job shortly after that talk.
I didn’t exult or cheer when I got the news. I simply sensed the fairness. Justice that is straightforward and silent.
That day, 30,000 feet in the air, cruelty and kindness were on full show. When a teenage teenager witnessed someone in need, he made the decision to provide compassion without hesitation. Instead, a mature guy had opted for haughtiness and rage. Ultimately, his flight was wrecked by someone other than my sobbing granddaughter. His entire destiny was shattered by his own awful actions.
Something basic in me altered throughout that flight.
For so long, I had felt that I was nothing more than an elderly woman just making ends meet and trying her hardest to raise a child who had already lost too much before her life had ever started.