Jetting to Jet

[as inscribed on the inside jacket of Ennis Rees’ More of Brer Rabbit’s Tricks]

12/9/09

Hello, my Little Love,

Welcome to the world! I think you’ll find, within a few years of living here, that it’s a pretty nice place. There are a lot of mean Brer Foxes out there; make no mistake about that. But, more importantly, there are also good people—wonderful, kind, loving ones who make this a really beautiful place to be. And you, Sir, are lucky, because a lot of those wonderful people are members of your family who couldn’t be more thrilled to have you here! No matter what, my Dear, you will always be very, very loved. That’s a promise.

Ecstatically Yours,

Aunt Jenna

JETTING TO JET

I am sitting in the Akron-Canton airport, thrilled beyond expression, and rather overwhelmed—It’s an emotional day. Reason #1: Jet Richardson came into the world today at 2:42am--8 lbs, 12 oz, 21¾ inches long. I got the call this morning that he was here from my ecstatic parents—and I mean BARELY this morning. Naturally, I couldn’t sleep, so I’m drifting in and out of fits of delirium. That’s reason #2 for the overabundance of emotions.

Reason #3: I arrived at Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport this morning in hopes of redeeming my standby ticket for Atlanta on the 12:12 flight [Supporting myself as a composer and arts non-profit employee while I apply to PhD programs, airline tickets are the last things I can afford right now, so I’m relying on Delta buddy passes for air travel]. And as it turns out, the first winter storm of the season has made its way to Cleveland with full force, and the flight from Cleveland was cancelled due to inclement weather. GREAT! OF ALL THE [*expletive*] TIMES FOR A FLIGHT TO BE CANCELLED!! [I’m an Aunt now, so I figure I’d better work on cleaning up my sailor mouth.] So there I stood, helplessly, in the Delta check-in line as an airline worker handed me a seat request for the next flight at 2:30. “There’s no way you’ll get on that flight,” she said, feigning perkiness, “but good luck!” Still standing, though now markedly more shrug-shouldered, in the line that was now completely irrelevant, I heard a voice behind me. “I’m standby too. And I just changed my ticket to fly out of Akron. They said there are more openings there. My husband is going to drive me there—he’s just outside. Would you like to come?” I turned around, looked her up and down—seemed normal enough—middle-aged, tiny framed, short blond hair, pragmatically dressed for flying in a Nike work-out suit and a pair very clean-looking Sketchers—and I’d overheard her on a phone conversation with a daughter or someone earlier saying something along the lines of “ok Sweetie, love you too, etc.” Weighing my options and the probability of this woman and her husband being a couple of serial killers, I introduced myself. “I’m Jenna, and that sounds wonderful.”

“Sandy.”

In desperation, I dashed off to yet another line to change my ticket, behind a rather irate man with prematurely white hair terrorizing a frazzled airline worker [I get the feeling the white hair was NOT a genetic condition]. I gave her my best comforting smile as I tried in vain to curb a rapidly mounting panic attack and soon found myself outside, counting my breaths, baby gift-filled carry-on luggage in hand, waiting for Sandy’s husband Dave to drive around.

I learned in the car on the way to Akron that the Eberleins, Sandy and her husband of 23 years, have been running a private general medical practice for the past 10 years, have two daughters in college at Ohio State, and take frequent medical mission trips to Guatemala. They live in Lakewood and attend Bay Village Presbyterian Church--charming, delightfully caring people. Sandra’s father, who lives in Fort Meyers, FL, is ill, and she and her older sister are flying down to pick him up so that they can drive him from Florida to Cincinnati for a family reunion. “We’re all here to help each other,” Dave said, clad in scrubs, shining an earnest smile at me from behind the wheel. “Hey look!” smiled Sandy, “Jesus rays!” pointing toward strokes of sunlight shining through the clouds just beyond the grey mass overhead. In any other situation, with any other pair of people, I would’ve most certainly rolled my eyes and probably barfed in my mouth a little. But not here. For some reason, when Sandra Eberlein gaily alluded to a simple reminder of her spirituality [and shockingly to me with no discernable tinge of irony], I forgot for a moment about my Bible-belt induced cynicism. “Yeah,” I thought. “Jesus rays. There he is.”

*story break for boarding*

I am now on Delta flight 5020 to Atlanta. The storm cleared, but not before we were bumped off of the first flight we checked in for. Sandy’s sitting beside me, watching the Jesus rays from the tier of clouds above the plane. When we sat down, I helped her don an arm circulation sleeve. “My medication effects the blood flow in my arms,” she said. “What’s your medication for?” I asked, like a dufus. “I have breast cancer, and since my mastectomy, I’ve been taking medicine in place of chemo. 4 year survivor in August!” she said pumping a daintily victorious fist in the air.

WELL WOULDN’T THAT JUST BE THE [*expletive*] CASE? Good grief. Suddenly I feel like [*expletive*]. Not to say that her being a cancer survivor just automatically makes her a saint or something, but I, being of sound health with so much in my favor, manage to be a major [*expletive*] most of the time, rarely stretching beyond my comfort zone or taking chances to help people in need, or even people whom I find moderately annoying. What made her reach out to me, [*expletive*] girl? Today, of all days? I’m amazed at the way life works sometimes, at how well people can care for each other in the midst of difficulty and hopelessness, and at how blindly the caring is offered, fortunately for me.

Tomorrow, I’ll probably go back to being the jaded, insensitive [*expletive*] of a person that I was this morning. But today, right now, I think I might just be sitting next to a fucking angel.

Praise the Lord.