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This short story contains sensitive content, specifically death.

“Happy 32nd! Your bifocals are awaiting your return!” My lips twitch at the text from my brother at a very late 5am, probably because he didn’t wake up for her midnight alarm. Another birthday at the airport, just as it should be, because this is where I belong. “Happy birthday, Son,” the elderly man peeping over my shoulder wishes me. “Don’t worry bifocals aren’t too bad.” I half smile and forgive him for intruding- New Orleans southerners generally have no malicious intent and he’s witty. “What are you doing boarding a flight instead of hitting the club or spending the day with a girl?” He matches my pace as we walk through the jet bridge.  “I’m too old for hitting the club, sir. I’m a journalist, I travel for a living- the job doesn’t care that it’s my birthday.” Did that sound bitter? The truth is I don’t remember a birthday where I wasn’t in an airport. My younger brother and I were raised by the string of airport jobs our single immigrant father had, first as a janitor, then at a burger joint and a few others I don’t remember until he was finally contracted as a cameraman for a travel show, the job he was actually educated for.  My brother and I share rent on an overpriced 3 bedroom apartment in DC so technically I have a house to return to, but even when I have time off I’m in the air; by choice. 

The man looked at me perplexed- “I did not expect such a thought from a young man of your generation. Aren’t y’all about living life to the fullest?” I respond with a semi-annoyed “who says I’m not?” And he replies with “Ahh now you’re getting defensive. I’m not assuming anything but since we’ve been talking I haven’t seen you smile with your eyes.”  

Traveling is who I am, it gives me a sense of freedom. Maybe it’s the excitement of the unknown or the fast pace of  the days, the action is my happy place. My feet have been moving since I could remember but I felt myself pause for the first time in my life a few days ago.

“Ok ok, let’s not talk about life. Let’s talk about the greatest city in the world. First time here?” he says, when I don’t respond to his comment. “No, I’ve been to NOLA a few times. This time it was for work—to cover the NYE incident.” I offer more information than I’d prefer, feeling a bit guilty for being rude.

As the whole world wished for an uneventful 2025, the first hour sent waves of terror through this hardened city. 40+ children and adults alike looking forward to the future only for it to never come. Witnessing death has a fascinating way of bringing out one’s deepest emotions doesn’t it? Someone’s eyes close and someone else’s open. The common 1st date question “if today was your last day on this earth, what would you want to do?” is vague and fun, but hearing the re-telling of that night’s events by bystanders and bereaved compelled me to think- if this was my last moment on earth, who do I want next to me? 

“Oh, that’s nice of you. Thank you,” he says solemnly, with a touch of awkwardness. The city is grieving, or maybe he knows someone who was affected. I decided not to pry, as we part ways to take our respective seats. 

My seatmate is a child and, on the other side of her, I assume the mother. “Could you not peep into my phone, sir?” she says passive aggressively, more aggressive than passive actually. I guess I’m the old, intruding man now. “Are you sure you are old enough to be watching Grey’s Anatomy?” I decide to lean into the role. She looks at me hesitantly for a second, probably trying to determine the reliability of a strange man. “I’m 12 and I don’t live under a rock,” she finally replies. Her mom looks in our direction with not much expression and says “Jani, don’t be rude. He’s making polite conversation,” and turns back to the window, lost in thought. “That’s ok ma’am,” I say to the back of her head and then to Jani- “Do you live in New orleans?” Without looking up from her screen she says, “No, my grandma does.”

We fall into a comfortable silence after that, watching the medical drama together. Once we take off, she lowers her tray table and sets the phone on it, making it easier for me to view. 

“I want to be a doctor when I grow up,” Jani says suddenly. “But I don’t want to be surrounded by death all the time.” I look to her mom, who’s fast asleep at this point. Should I engage in a conversation about death with a 12 year old? Then it hits me—the conversation that stopped me in my tracks just days ago.

I was on a flight from DC and at the scene of the New year’s eve terror attack in New Orleans a few hours into the morning of January 1st. After getting minimal new information from the NOLA PD and a little more from bystanders, I headed over to the University Medical Center Emergency room. In the chaos I found some people to talk to me. Just when I thought that the time to give up has come, I see a familiar face in scrubs outside the ER to the corner. She is so engrossed in her conversation with another in scrubs that she doesn’t notice me overhearing. 

“Is thi..is what be..ing a doctor is like?” the younger, not familiar face asks, tears rolling. 

“Look, what I’m about to say is not something you haven't heard or read before. Death is a part of life. If everyone was immortal we wouldn’t appreciate all the amazing experiences life has to offer. Yes, an early death is upsetting, but look at it this way, it’s better than suffering in a hospital bed, right? And anyway, with all the horrible things happening in this world, is it really worth crying over being not alive?” the recipient gives a pointed look and stutters “tha..at’s even moo..re depppre..ssing!” There’s a slight sad smile I almost missed. "It is, but for every reason to give up, there are countless more reasons to keep living fully. Medicine isn’t always like this. People are not always dying, sometimes they’re just sick and need some support to heal. There are so many ways you can contribute to medicine without being around death all the time, that’s for you to decide. Do what is most fulfilling for you. I will tell you this: to work in healthcare you’ll have to be comfortable with uncomfortable situations.” 

As they cool down, I wait for her to notice my presence and when she doesn’t I call out to her. 

She turns to look at me, but it’s like she’s seeing straight through me—eyes unfocused, on the verge of breaking. She squats down right outside the ER and starts sobbing. “It’s ok, It’s ok,” I try. When she doesn’t look up at me I resort to joking, “Do I have to repeat the words that you just told your that woman who I’m assuming is your med student?” It worked, she looks up. “ I’ve learned to deal with morbidity and mortality. It’s the guilt; the guilt that I could've done more” I initially stay quiet, gently rubbing her back. After taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I offer “You know it’s not your fault as long as you did your best, whatever your best is that day. There’s a reason why human beings made concepts such as fate and God. It’s because we realized we cannot control everything and need someone or something else to blame some of the misery in our lives on. Try to pick one and go with it.” She looks up and starts wiping the tears off her face. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said and that’s saying something.” I laugh a short laugh and respond, “But it’s true.”

“Why is it that you always show up when I’m at my lowest?” she asks, referring to the time I found her crying when she didn’t get into medical school on her first try or maybe the time her younger brother checked himself into rehab. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me sobbing my eyes dry,” reminding her of the day my father passed away. She finally looked into my eyes and everything was ok again. 

“Hellooo, I said something,” Jani shakes my arm to get some advice out of me. “Sorry, what?” She rolls her eyes and asks, “How do I be a doctor but not be around sadness and death all the time?” 

I try my best to replicate the words I heard. “I have a friend who’s a doctor, a resident, just like those characters in your show. She once said that……” 

By the time we landed, Jani and I were best friends and I ended up telling her everything about my “doctor friend.” I told her about our breakfast date the next day followed by a trip to the local book store, Blue Cypress. I told her about how we made plans for the future, jokingly like we always have, about travelling the world- her as a global health physician, me as a Journalist, even though we never actually make plans to see each other again. When Jani said I was an idiot for not making substantial plans to be together, I told her it was never the right time. She still called me an idiot. And she’s right. If today was my last moment on earth, I would want to spend time with a lot of people before I go. But at that 59th second, I would want her. 

So when I turn my phone off of airplane mode, I don’t waste any time sending the text “ When is the next time you have time off? Even if it's 24hrs, I would love to fly down to see you. In the meantime, I can offer facetime dates, if that’s ok with you.” She responds with a laughing-crying emoji and “what about 2 weekends from now? And absolutely yes to the facetime dates! Took you long enough to come up with that, haha. Oh! Happy 32nd!”