Zibby Mag

By Louise Rampersaud

The problem with TSA is that they don’t recognize a dead person when they see one.

Granted, he was cremated, but I’m pretty sure TSA training should include both forms of dead. Regular and sprinkle.

A year after my husband passed away, I flew to Ireland to spread some of his ashes in the River Slaney, his childhood fishing hole.

That was seven years ago. And I’m going on record to say it’s a horrible way to fly. It’s an extremely surreal experience flying with your husband’s remains in your carry-on.

At the very least, you’re hesitant to reach for your bareMinerals powder to touch up at the end of the flight.

Looking back, all I really wanted was for someone to acknowledge my pilgrimage and the enormity of what I was doing.

Pull me aside in line.

Tell me they were sorry for our loss.

Give me a hug.

Put my shoes back on for me after security.

Something.

But it turns out a body can go through not one, but TWO major airports completely undetected.

I found it strange I couldn’t bring more than 3.4 ounces of liquid on board—for fear of what? I would randomly start spritzing people mid-flight? But 10 or so ounces of dead husband got an “all-clear”?

There was one glimmer of hope when my bag was scanned at the second airport.

That was my last chance before boarding to let everyone know that my husband of nearly twenty years was propped up next to my laptop in my carry-on. And yes, I was having some issues with it!

A pensive look on the agent’s face.

A sideways cock of the head.

A finger pointing to the screen.

Me! Me! Me! I wanted to shout. That’s my bag. And yes, that is my…

Instead, they opened up the bag right after mine, the one with the anatomically warped doll from a child in line behind us. My girls and I were sent on our way to obsess over female proportions without even so much as a foot rub.

And that was it!

That was my last chance before boarding to let everyone know that my husband of nearly twenty years was propped up next to my laptop in my carry-on. And yes, I was having some issues with it!

Fortunately, it was a flight to Ireland, so drinking was available. Small blessings.

It’s since dawned on me that maybe that was the whole point after all. Life was trying to remind me that we often don’t see or appreciate what’s in front of us. It’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way. To be grateful. To say the words. To express the feelings. Before it’s too late. To recognize that the beauty of the day-to-day, the conversations, and the connections are what build a life of meaning, one layer at a time. And none of it should be taken for granted.

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Louise Rampersaud is a writer, educator, children’s book author, and co-creator of Quarantine Cards. She cared for a critically ill husband for ten years (courtesy of Vascular Ehlers-Danlos), was subsequently widowed, raised two girls, and has inadvertently eaten blue cheese and guacamole. It’s been a hard road. One paved with little cobblestones ready to throw you off your footing along the way. But she’s come out the other side and wants you to know you can, too. Deep, collective breaths!