She was clearly confused.   Before boarding even began, she had tried to walk out onto the tarmac of Pasco Airport.  Only the impressive foot speed of the nimble gate agent kept her from wandering right out the gate 3 door.  After numerous attempts to explain the boarding process, the gate agent finally resorted to physically planting the woman beside the gate counter.  She was Hispanic, a few sunsets on one side of 70 years old or the other, and had no knowledge of the English language.

Upon landing in San Francisco, an airport that can disorient the most frequent of flyers, she waited for her luggage at the gate check bag area beside the plane.  When her bag was not there, she showed her claim check to the baggage handler.  The claim check obviously indicated that her bag was checked at the ticketing desk, not at the gate, and would, therefore be in baggage claim and not plane side.  The baggage handler said, “Your bag will be in baggage claim six”  She stared.  “BAGGAGE CLAIM SIX,” he repeated loudly, and pointed to the ramp that lead into the airport from the tarmac.  It was then that she looked at me.  I motioned to follow me.

Inside, I lead the woman to the San Francisco gate agent.  “She doesn’t speak English and needs to collect her luggage from baggage claim,” I explained.  The gate agent, clearly annoyed that I had dropped this unwanted responsibility on him, referred to a sheet of paper in his hand and told the woman, “You need to go to baggage claim six.”  Blank stare.  “BAGGAGE CLAIM SIX, he exclaimed with greater use of his diaphragm.”  Now, both the elderly woman and I were staring at him.  My inner voice was screaming to be heard.  It was saying, “There is a distinct difference between not knowing the language and being deaf.  Try another strategy.”  Instead, I simply motioned for the woman to follow me.  With a parting glare at the gate agent, we began our journey.

The saunter to baggage claim was easily more than 10 minutes, probably nearly a half-mile through the airport with a serpentine like path to navigate.  We walked in silence; me trying to help a stranger, her trusting one.  I met my driver, who was there to take me to the hotel where I was staying, and told him that I would be right back after I dropped her off.  He looked puzzled, but took my bags and said he would wait at the door.  When we arrived at baggage claim six, I performed my best pantomime in an effort to indicate that her bag would eventually appear on the carousel.  I looked her in the eyes and nodded.  She nodded back.  I was only modestly confident that I had successfully communicated what she should expect.

As I walked away, I looked back.  She looked uncomfortable; shifting her view from side to side.  I wondered if I should have stayed until she got her bag.  I wondered what she would do after she got her bag.  Would someone meet her?  Why was she traveling alone?  Was she someone’s mother, grandmother, wife?  Where was she going?  Was she sad, scared, or alone?

There are stories like this happening all around us every single day.  If you are like me, mostly you ignore them – too caught up in the little distractions that make up our lives.  But maybe we should break our patterns, at least on occasion, and reach out to someone who has a need.  Somewhere, a family placed their faith in the world that their grandmother could get from one place to another safely.  We are all responsible for proving we are worthy of that confidence.