He went unnoticed at first.
I was halfway through my audiobook, trying to ignore the turbulence and the person next to me who sighed loudly whenever I moved. Then a small fingers tugged my sleeve. This three- or four-year-old youngster stood in the aisle, eyes wide, appearing like he was sobbing.
Before I could speak, he climbed onto my lap. Cuddled like he knew me. Like he had previously.
I froze.
No one spoke as those around us gazed. The flight attendant passed him, smiled sweetly, and continued. Not knowing what to do. I wanted to inquire where his parents were, but he had already laid his head beneath my arm, breathing slowly like he was secure.
I looked around the rows for someone to speak. But nothing.
I carried him the entire flight. Not one came for him. No announcements. Fear not. Just quiet.
After landing as everyone got their things, I asked the lady across the aisle where his parents were.
She blinks and says, “I thought you were his mom.”
The pit in my gut grew then.
The kid was moving, rubbing his eyes, when I peered down. His dreamy grin appeared as he gazed up at me. “Are we there yet?” he muttered, sleepy.
I said, “We are,” my head racing. What’s your name, sweetie?
He said “Finn,” yawned, and cuddled with me.
“Finn,” I repeated. “Where is your mother or father?”
He shook his head, frowning. “They came before.”
Panic ensued. How might a youngster get misplaced on a plane? Where were his parents? Why did no one realize he was gone?
I informed the flight attendant as we deplaned. She appeared astonished but unconcerned. She said, “Maybe they got separated in the rush to get off?” but her tone was hesitant.
Nobody came searching for Finn after what seemed like a lifetime at the gate. I clutched his hand firmly, feeling protective and anxious.
Finally, airport security intervened. Finn just said his mother had blonde hair and his father was “big.” They paged his name and description over the intercom but got no answer.
Hours passed. Finn was unusually calm, doodling images on a coffee shop napkin and asking for “juice.” He seemed to trust me, this stranger whose lap he had mysteriously selected as his safe refuge.
The airport personnel was nice but overworked. They threatened to alert child protective services if no one came forward immediately. I was heartbroken about this precious kid entering the system.
“May I stay with him until his parents are found?” I blurted out my question.
The security guard looked at me with pity. “We appreciate your help, ma’am, but we have protocols.”
A pale, tearful lady ran toward us just as I felt powerless. “Finn! Finn, my God!”
His mother. She raced to him, kneeling and embracing him, crying wildly. “Where were you? I was scared!”
A great sense of relief swept me. I was delighted he was home with his mother safely. As I saw them rejoin, a peculiar emotion tore at me. Something was wrong.
His mother stared at me, flushed and puffy. “Thank you,” she said, emotional. “Thank you for caring for him.”
Yes, I answered, trying a grin.
He approached with a worried look. What happened? He arrived here how?
His appearance was unlike Finn’s. Height, black hair, and severe countenance.
“This is my husband, David,” Finn’s mother introduced him.
David stared at Finn and then his wife, confused. “But… I thought he was with you?”
Then it struck me. They just discovered Finn was gone now. They didn’t seek him. They weren’t concerned.
The comfort I felt seconds before became a tight knot of rage in my gut. How could they be careless? How could they lose track of their kid for hours?
Twist arrived later that night. Finn sliding onto my lap, like he was holding onto me, kept coming to mind. The security guard gave me the child protective services number to check in.
My social worker was reluctant to give me anything, but she said they were investigating. Finn’s parents had various accounts regarding who was babysitting him on the aircraft. She couldn’t reveal additional red flags.
Weeks passed, and I kept thinking about Finn. Even I was astonished by my passionate protectiveness and closeness to him.
Then I was called. She was social worker. She informed me they determined Finn wasn’t secure with his parents following their inquiry. They sought a temporary foster home for him.
My heart jumped. I spontaneously said, “Can I… can I be his foster parent?”
The other end paused. “You’re a single woman,” she cautioned. “You just met him.”
“I know,” I begged. “He needs someone. And I… I think I can offer him a nice home, even temporarily.”
That required persuasion, a home study, and plenty of paperwork. Finn arrived at my home a week later with a little duffel bag. He gazed up at me with huge brown eyes full of fear and hope.
“Hi,” he muttered.
“Hi, Finn,” I kneeled in front of him. Welcome home.
My success didn’t come from being a great parent. Getting to know this plane-dropped kid was slow, dirty, and lovely. Challenges, restless nights, and doubts arose. But there was also love, laughter, and the deep joy of providing him with a secure and loving home.
I hosted Finn for six months. His parents ultimately got their act together, went to therapy, and showed authorities they could provide a stable home for him. Leaving was one of my toughest experiences. But I knew I had given him a gentle landing at a terrible moment, and that was enough.
The life lesson is that life throws us curveballs and puts us in unexpected circumstances. In such instances, you may help someone in need by being nice and compassionate. Sometimes unforeseen relationships impact our lives profoundly.
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