I’ll Fly Away
On an anonymous day last April the entire Amsterdam airport was shut down for six solid hours. No natural disaster or terrorist activity was at fault. It was something as mundane as a power outage. I doubt it made the evening news outside of the Netherlands.
I first heard about it in Warsaw. My flight was delayed. I called my airline, knowing the delay meant I wouldn't make my tight connection. The kind woman on the other end explained all about the power shortage in Amsterdam. She didn't explain about the thousands of people already stranded there and the thousands more that would be joining them. These were the truths I already understood. Having flown through the airport before, I knew how busy an international hub it is. I understood the ripples of chaos that six hours without a single flight would cause. It was sending tremors through my own heart as we spoke.
The kind customer service agent assured me that I was not to worry at all. The airline had automatically rebooked me for another flight tomorrow. Fighting down the panic I told her that tomorrow wouldn’t work, couldn’t possibly work. I absolutely had to fly today. She kindly, but firmly explained that there weren’t any other options for today.
“Please,” I said, “I'm traveling for a funeral.”
I did not say those words without tears. My grandmother had just passed away. My flight would get me there just in time to drive to the viewing before the funeral.
The customer service agent expressed her condolences but made no promises. I pulled my handkerchief from my backpack and slowed my breathing. Finally she said, “Amsterdam predicts that they should have everything running again in about a half an hour. I’ve had to change your routing, and you’ll get in several hours later than planned, but I was able to find you a plane.”
I thanked her. Of course I did. Gratitude, relief, anxiety poured out of me at the merest provocation. I opened my email to check and recheck the new flight confirmation. And, I got on a plane.
Landing in Amsterdam, I rushed off the jetway with a hundred other harried passengers. We spilled into the turmoil of a major airport recovering from a shutdown. I pushed my way through the crowds to find a ticket machine. I typed in my information to print my boarding pass for a flight that took off in just an hour. The screen blinked an unrelenting Processing. I checked the time. I should just be able to make it. Gratitude washed over me again for an agent who was willing to keep trying until she got me on this flight. Finally the screen lurched to life. It showed me on a flight the next day. It asked if I would like cash compensation or a hotel for the night. My heart in my feet, my shaky hands reached up to cancel out of the screen. I entered my information again. And again. With increasing urgency I typed my name and scanned my passport, each time returning the same futile results.
With time slipping and hope fading, I rushed to the gate. It was, if anything, even more crowded than the rest of the airport. Dispirited travelers hunched over suitcases, slumped against backpacks. They consumed every square inch with both their presence and their emotion. There was not a soul there who hadn’t already had a miserable day.
The line snaked away from the desk, sending me on an odyssey simply to find its terminus. I joined it with increasing despair. It did not require complex mathematical calculations to see that there were more bodies in the gate area than could possibly fit on this plane. I watched as a older couple yelled vociferously at the supremely calm desk agent. The line stayed firmly unmoving as they harangued this woman about a litany of complaints, none of which she had any control over. I listened half-heartedly as my line mates bantered back and forth. They compared stories of where they were trying to go and how long they’d been stuck in the airport.
The airplane began to board. The lucky ones, the chosen who had boarding passes made their way to the gate agents. The ticket machine beeped with each scanned ticket and weary travelers walked through the jetway. I stood helplessly, eternally locked in a line that refused to shorten. I was still miles away from the desk as the line of boarding passengers began to dwindle. Still a half a dozen people between me and the desk when they began to announce all ticketed passengers must board now.
After an anxious eternity I stepped up to the counter. I explained about the kind woman I’d spoken to on the phone. I explained about her assurances that I had a seat on this flight. I explained about the confirmation email. I pressed my phone toward the desk attendant. I explained and I explained, willing those words to be enough. She looked sympathetic, but firm. I don’t know how many times she’d heard the words today, “I have to get on this flight”. None of them changed the mathematics of how many seats were on the plane. I knew this.
She looked at my phone, scrolling around to see the various details. With professional efficacy she tapped at her keys. A hopelessness began to envelope me as tears carved trails down my cheeks. I wanted to stop them, to remain collected. But there was nothing left to stem the tide. The aching truth was pummeling down on me. I was going to miss it. Because of electrical shortages. Because of obstinate tourists. Because of glitchy systems. And because the world is capricious and ill inclined to mercy. I was not going to be able to touch my grandmother’s fingers one last time. I would not be there to stand witness as her body was laid down in the earth. I would not be there to stand shoulder to shoulder with all those people who she loved.
The speakers overhead crackled. “Last call for flight xxx departing now at Gate xxx for Detroit”. Amid the chaos I heard a tiny, glorious sound. A printer. The gate agent plucked my boarding pass from its tray and handed it to me. Running to the entrance, I was the last one down the jetway. I boarded the plane with all the efficiency I could muster. Stowing my backpack, I took the last middle seat left on the plane, still shaking with emotion.
Once we were underway, I pulled out my knitting. I was several rows into a Bandana Cowl. Round and round I knit, depositing every bit of grief and anxiety into those stitches. I finished the last row somewhere over the Atlantic. With numb fingers, I wove in the ends. Sitting in the dark cabin among strangers I felt desperately cold and alone. I slipped the scarf over my head. It was a tactile balm in a sea of grief.
I didn't start this scarf as a tribute to my grandmother but it seems to me a fitting one. I did what she had taught me to do. When things are hard or confusing or simply boring, I use my hands to make something. Hers were hands that needed to move. All her life, she used her hands to show her people that she loved us. Even at the end, when it was hard for her, she found new ways to use them to say:
I’m so proud you came.
I love you more than you do me.
Particulars
Anatomy
Pattern
This is the Bandana Cowl, a free pattern from Purl Soho. I really love this pattern. Since finishing this scarf, nearly a year ago, I have worn it multiple times a week. I love the shape and how it hangs. I imagine this will only be the first of many in this pattern for me.
Yarn
This scarf was a second-chance make for me. A few years ago I knit a long cowl, thinking it would be the perfect go-to scarf for me. It turns out, I really don’t enjoy the weight of that much yarn around my neck. So, I unraveled the cowl and a bit of the yarn became this highly abbreviated cowl. It has been a perfect transition, and now really is my go-to neck accompaniment.
New Skills
I learned to make short rows with this pattern. The instructions that are linked in the pattern are clear and easy to follow. It always feels good to have one more thing I know I can tackle when considering a new pattern.
Geography
This was a Spring project which meant that it accompanied me to lost of play rehearsals and spring concerts. I expected that to be as far afield as it would travel. But, I was also grateful to have it as my companion on that unplanned flight back to the States.
