Mrs. Williams

What I first noticed about her was that she was sitting in a wheelchair. She didn't seem to be any different from the other elderly white women I've seen waiting to board the plane over the past year. But when she reached out with a smile to touch the gate agent's elbow as he took her boarding pass and he bent down to hug her in response, I was surprised. He took the time to speak with her -- in fact, it was clear he cared about her. I thought the interaction between them said more about him than her, but I was wrong.

Alvin invited me to go ahead of him before he pushed her wheelchair down the ramp - I had effectively forgotten her by the time I settled into my seat. I'd buckled myself into the middle seat on the second row and buried my nose in my book before I noticed her again. This time it was because she was standing at the end of my row and asking if she could sit in the seat next to me. Inwardly a small part of me sighed because I had been looking forward to sitting in the middle and not sharing my row with anyone. But I didn't really begrudge her the seat and I moved down - she was apologizing the whole time I was moving things. She explained to me with a laugh that this was her "lucky seat" and she sat in it every time she went to Houston. As soon as I really looked at her, I knew she was not well. Her thinning, white hair was cropped short, stylish, close to her head. Her skin had a sallow tinge to it and her cheeks were sunken. She was dressed nicely with simple jewelry, not overdone. I don't remember what I said, something appropriately polite, no doubt.

While we waited for the plane to taxi, I learned she traveled every Thursday morning to M.D. Anderson in Houston for her chemotherapy. And back to Jackson every Thursday evening. Only this morning her appointment was on a Monday and she only recognized one other regular traveler. I saw her lean forward to get the attention of the lady in front of us and her smile transformed her face. It was one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. I think I fell in love with her then. Her cancer can't be cured - in 2004 the doctors in Jackson sent her to hospice to die, but she decided to live. Her husband is in the nursing home at the VA since he suffered a debilitating stroke a few months before she was diagnosed. So she goes to M.D. Anderson every week because she wants to live as long as she can. She was matter of fact about this and told me, "If the Lord wanted me to die, I would have been gone long before now. " She lives in her granddaughter's travel trailer in Byram- it's the perfect size for her, she can move from the bed to the chair easily. She has a tv and plenty of food. Her son picks her up at the Houston airport every week -- she would be happy taking the M.D. Anderson shuttle, but he refuses to let her do that. He want's to go with her to the doctor every week. Whenever her flight back is delayed, he would strip down to be able to go through security with her, but she doesn't let him do that. She's fine, she has her puzzle book and there are plenty of people to visit with--time passes and he could be at home by the time she got through security.

She relayed all of this to me without a bit of self-pity. She didn't invite pity, either. She was at peace. Before the trip was over, I understood why Alvin hugged her because I wanted to hug her, too. Instead, I settled for rubbing her back and telling her I hoped her day went well. She gave me one of those smiles in return.

I hope I see her again - because I probably will hug her then.