One Last Trip to Hawaii

 
  I was very fortunate to fly the other day with a remarkable passenger and her family. And it's probably one of those stories I will probably always remember till the end my flying career. I wanted to share it with you.
   It was an early morning flight from New Orleans to Los Angeles. I noticed the woman sitting in a row with her son and an older gentleman. I could tell they didn't fly much, if at all. Their looks on their faces and their attention to every detail and my  movement gave it away.
   With the exception of the man traveling with her, who didn't want to fasten his seat belt for take off, the family was non-descript and kept to themselves.
    Once my flying partner and I finished the service in the economy cabin, the woman came to the back of the airplane to use the facilities. As she looked curiously around the galley, I could tell this was probably her first flight. She shortly confessed it was. And probably her last.
    She explained she was headed to a vacation she had always dreamed up, but knew she probably would never see. She was headed to Hawaii. Growing up she had heard such wonderful things about the exotic locale. The TV commercials sharing sandy beaches, the magazine ads showing luscious luaus fueled her desire to visit there.
     But growing up the bayou of Louisiana, she knew the odds of her saving up for such a trip were slim.
     And her time on earth was quickly ticking away.
     I would guess the woman to be around 40 years old. For the past year, she has been battling bladder cancer. And her one live-long wish was to visit Hawaii.
     She was fortunate enough for one of her brothers to pay her way for a vacation to the Island in the Pacific. Along with her son, she was on my flight joined by one of her other brothers.
     She learned about Hawaii from stories shared by her grandfather, who served in the military in O'ahu on the brink of World War II. He would show her photos of the beautiful paradise he took before it was bombed by the Japanese in December 1941. She knew it was a place, one day, she wanted to visit.
      So for her, this trip -- I'm sure -- was bittersweet. She was happy to be visiting a place her grandfather once stood, defending his country. But I'm certain, in the back of her mind, her illness rested, too. If it did, she certainly didn't show it. On our flight, she was full of life and talked so optimistically. She was one of the more positive passengers I've had the pleasure of flying with in my 17 year career as a flight attendant.     She told us her son would listen to stories from  his great-grandfather about the island. She told us about one photograph taken by him in a particular location in Pearl Harbor. She told us how she was going to take the same picture of her son in the exact location to take home framed to the man who shared his stories of paradise with her. A tribute, if you will.
     She asked us about places to see while she was there. She asked us about restaurants to dine at to savor the local foods. We shared with her our favorites. We told her of the local markets to visit for trinkets and other souvenirs. We told her of the secret hideaways to visit. Beaches to bask in.
     She was thankful for every minute of our time.
     I was thankful for her story. It made me appreciate life much more.