While boarding the plane, she had received a phone call: her sister in Sydney had died suddenly in her sleep, and her sister's wife had woken up next to the body. My seatmate was due in Melbourne to pick up her kids and in that moment as the final boarding call sounded she had no ability to process the news, let alone work out who to call for help.
We gripped each other tightly for 75 minutes, through the worst of the turbulence and the rest of the flight. When we landed, we compared the marks we had left on the other's palms.
More than any of the drugs, any of the psychology, this is the flight that cured me of my fear. But the gift she gave me was greater than that: a reminder that there's always someone going through worse.
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