Stranded In Atlanta
The plane circled at 14,000 feet above Atlanta, Georgia. The pilot announced that due to bad weather we had been put into a holding pattern until further notice. I began to feel agitated. This plane had taken off from Gatwick Airport, located on the outskirts of London, England, seven hours before. I’d gone through several time zones and was tired and cranky. The last thing I wanted to deal with was airport delays. To top it off, this trip to London was the first time I’d ever flown alone and the first time I’d ever been gone so close to Christmas.
Finally, we were allowed to land. Atlanta was fogged in. They cancelled all flights from the moment we touched down, re-routing them to other airports. If we’d not
been coming in from London and been low on fuel, we too would have been sent somewhere else. Atlanta was not my final destination, Salt Lake City, Utah was. It
was going to be a long, long night.
Before I’d left London I made sure that I spent all my money I never thought I’d need an. I didn’t own a credit card. Now here I was, in Atlanta, with thousands of other stranded people and I didn’t have a penny to my name.
I kept getting up and going over to the desk, irritated, wanting to go home. Hours passed and nothing changed. I was hungry and very tired. Out of frustration, I walked around. When I came to the restrooms, I went into one of the stalls and felt the desire to say a very sincere prayer. I prayed that the fog would go away, that I wouldn’t be scared,
and that they would hurry up and let me go home. I sat and wept my heart out. After about half of an hour, I wiped my face off with a wet paper towel and went back to my gate.
I found a comfortable seat and sat, feeling very alone and scared. Only a few minutes had passed when this man came and sat down in the seat next to me. He smiled at me. He had beautiful blue eyes that sparkled. He was middle-aged, and had nicely combed light brown hair. I made an effort to smile back at him but I really wasn’t feeling very happy. He casually began talking to me. He asked where I was headed. When I mentioned Salt Lake City, he announced that he was going there too. He was to be on my flight. He never asked me my name. He could tell that I’d been crying and looked at me with deep concern and compassion.
For the next several hours we sat and talked. We walked around the airport, enjoying the Christmas decorations and endless carols blaring from the loud speakers. I ended up telling him my whole pathetic story. I felt rather foolish; everyone else at the airport was going through the same thing, including him.
He introduced himself as Andrew. He told me not to worry; he’d stay with me the whole time and make sure I got on the plane safely. I felt strangely calmed by his kind, assuring words. I watched him as he spoke. He seemed somewhat familiar but when I brought that up, he assured me we’d never met.
Later, he wandered off; was only gone for several minutes, and came back with some food for both of us. I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life as that stale ham sandwich and bottled water. We talked about everything, but mostly about me and what was going on in my life. Finally, six hours after we’d landed, it was time to board our plane. Andrew took me up to the gate, made sure I got on the plane and said he’d be right behind me. He said, "Goodbye, Margo." As I walked down the ramp towards my seat, I wondered how he knew my name, but out of exhaustion, I shrugged it off, collapsed into my seat and fell asleep right away. I felt safe. I knew Andrew was on the airplane.
When we touched down in Salt Lake City, my family was waiting there to pick me up. I was one of the first people off the plane. My children hugged me and welcomed me home. I told them about the wonderful man, my guardian angel, who had been there to comfort me and be my friend during one of the most stressful times of my life. I waited as everyone came off the plane. I never saw Andrew. He wasn’t there. I looked around the luggage pick up; not a sign of Andrew anywhere. I was confused and felt sad that I’d not been able to introduce my children to him.
The days passed quickly. One morning, my mother called and asked me to come over to her house. She’d just been sent a package of old photographs from our relatives in Scotland. Excited, I rushed over. We sat and looked through them. Mum pointed out my Great Uncle Jimmy, Grandpa Crawford, Great Grandma Geddes, and so many more. I reached into the pile and pulled out a photograph. I gasped. I felt all the blood rush out of my face. My mother took the photo from my hand and looked on the back of it. All it said was, ‘Andrew Donaldson, Shetland Islands, 1897’. This was my great grandfather. It was also Andrew, the man at the airport who had shown me such kindness, such compassion and such love. I burst out crying as I told my mother all about what had happened that night.
I held the photograph up to my heart and heard the words, "I love you, Margo.
You’ll never be alone again," whispered in my ear.
I whispered back, " I love you too, Grandpa Andrew. Thank you."