I hate to travel. I especially hate to fly. Yesterday, I took two planes to get to Los Angeles to see my younger brother. He suffered a traumatic brain injury two months ago in a motorcycle accident. He spent his 60th birthday in a coma, on a ventilator, in a trauma center far from home.

I haven’t seen him yet. I’ve avoided it ‘til now for myriad reasons, but mostly, I’m scared to see him so hurt, and I’ve been a wreck beneath the veil I’ve used to keep going.

I was overwhelmed yesterday, but did all the things I needed to do to get there. I’m not in the best physical shape. I was afraid I’d miss my connecting flight if the gate was too far away. I did something different. I asked for help. I’ve been doing that a lot, lately.

A man named Mateo met me with a wheelchair, which I didn’t need to get up the jetway to the gate. He rolled me to his golf cart, helped me get on, and stowed my luggage.

I needed that ride. The connecting flight seemed miles away, the crowds too much for me. Mateo rang the little bike bell attached to the cart, yellow with a smiley face. Ding, ding, “Cart on your left,” he called in a gentle voice to the people walking in front of him. It cleared the way. Arriving at my gate, I offered him a tip, which he graciously accepted.

I got on the plane, settled in, my anxiety high. All the travelers aboard, the flight attendants readied the cabin for take-off. Just before the door was closed, the gate agent came onto the plane, and in a loud voice, asked “is there a Nan Tepper here?”

I raised my hand, waved, “I’m Nan Tepper.” He handed me my small black shoulder bag. It contained ALL my ID, my money, my plastic, my keys.

I had no idea I’d left it on Mateo’s cart. Everything was there. All of it.

There’s so much goodness in this world. Don’t lose sight of the love.

Please restack if this touches you. I want to cheer as many people as I can.