Those Who Cut Our Grass

On the first leg of my flight from Syracuse to Alaska, there was a fellow in the window seat beside me. It was toward the back of the plane. He appeared a bit scraggly and he must have been tall with his hairy knees touching mine at times. He was wearing a fleece camouflage sweatshirt and a pair of denim shorts. His grey hair was pulled back in a ponytail not unlike my recent hitch hiking passenger "Cowboy". He also cuts grass for people same as Cowboy does. He had blue eyes and sort of a puffy face with pock marks. He seemed a gentle sort as I reminded him to put the armrest down for take-off. I was, afterall, wearing my new "flight attendant" dress that my cousin got for me the first time I visited Alaska. It retails for several hundred dollars, but we found it at the consignment shop for less than twenty dollars. It was kind of fun because even the flight attendants were complimenting me on my outfit.

My new "Airline Stewardess Dress"

Anyway, as often happens with me, or as my husband Jim will attest to, I get people's life story. It would be no different with Rich, my fellow passenger.

Rich was on his way to California, well, actually, a small town north of there in the state of Oregon. He was going to visit his mother. His mother is dying. Rich was considering driving out. It seems he had all he could do to cough up the one-way fare to Sacremento. Rich mows lawn for a living. He appears older than what his actual age must be. I say that because he told me that his mother is only 72 years of age. My mother just turned 94 and I am in my 66th year.

Rich kind of laughs to himself after he says something. I was asking if he served in the Military. I was trying to think of ways in which he could get a discounted flight. Then he told me that the recruiter messed up things for him.

"Well, I got into a bit of trouble when I was younger - not real bad, but I guess it would show up on my record. This guy tells me not to mention it. My mother didn't care for him anyway."

I was wondering what he could have done.

"One of my buddies took me out for a drive one night. I should have known when he was starting the car with a screwdriver."

"I mean, those records are sealed if you are under 19. I mean, you could still probably find them...." Rich continued as he laughed quietly under his breath.

There was something so honest about him.

I asked him about his father.

"Well, he passed a couple of years ago."

"He must have been young too?" I inquired.

"Yeah, well, he and my Mom were high school sweethearts. I mean, he was a few years older than she was. They did divorce. I think he was about 73 when he passed."

"Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"Yeah, my sister is with my Mom now. I have a brother too." He sounded kind of vague.

I asked what his mother has. She has brain cancer he told me.

I was still trying to think of how Rich could get back.

Rich said that he might take the train, or get a car to go back East for the return.

"It would probably only take about three days." He added.

My heart went out to him. He was talking to someone or interacting anyway on his cracked phone. He told me he paid close to $500 for his oneway ticket. I asked if he could not get some sort of bereavement fare. He said that he tried that.

Then, I asked Rich what his mother's name is. He told me 'Beverly'. I promised him that I would pray for her. I pray that he gets to see his mother before she dies.

We get off the plane in Denver, and Rich was wondering what to do next. I looked up his connecting flight to Medford, and directed him to the respective terminal.

"Man, I got to have a cigarette." He said.

I shook his hand and wished him well.