Breathing on Dry Bones

Look at that baby, my husband nudged me as he nodded to the right. I turned and looked, perfunctorily saying, Oh how cute! as I tried to hear whether the muddled overhead announcement was for our flight or another one. Cute? She looks funny! he said. I took a closer look. The little one's hair was looking more like a mohawk than anything else and she had distinct facial features. I shrugged and thought nothing more of it. 

It was a game we'd been playing since we had gotten married five years ago. Anytime one of us saw a chubby baby, we'd point them out to the other and smile together at their antics as their parents hurried by. We didn't have children of our own. Most of the time it didn't bother me, especially when I was around small ones that had a lot of energy and I was only too happy to hand them back to their parents at the end of Cradle Roll Sabbath School. 

Except every now and then, things felt different. 

After some mild turbulence during the second half of our, thankfully, short flight, we landed and started to deplane. The small "international" airport had stairs for us, pushed up to the plane by one of the ground crew, and the crew member directing the plane to its parking spot used a thumbs-up gesture instead of a fluorescent marshalling wand. We walked across the tarmac into the terminal and joined the huddle of passengers waiting for bags to start trundling out on one of the only two baggage belts there. 

As I wearily waited to the side with my carry-on, my eager husband having claimed a spot right next to the flaps where the bags came out, I noticed a couple of kids pushing a baggage cart around to amuse themselves. One young boy came over with an empty cart and as he passed his mother, I noticed she was the same lady who had been holding the baby we'd seen at the beginning of our flight. 

The baby noticed me in the same moment I noticed her. Almost automatically, I smiled. Her tiny face lit up immediately as her smile spread from ear to ear, she chuckled happily and kicked her little legs with glee. A tear pricked my eyelid as a pang of sadness slipped uninvited through me. Her mother noticed the little one's sudden burst of energy and turned to see who she was looking at. When she saw me, she also smiled and I smiled back through the tears that threatened to cloud my vision. Blinking rapidly, I turned away but not before I saw the understanding glance of a woman who could not speak my language but saw the empty arms and felt the lonely heart. 

The baby kept giggling and smiling at me until the family had claimed their bags and headed for the arrivals door. I watched them leave with a wistfulness I had learned to bury deep down over the years. I had all my answers down pat—I am too old, most women my age are grandparents, I wouldn't want to risk having a child with a serious illness, this world is becoming too uncertain to raise a child in. 

It didn't make the loss any easier, though.