No Problem
When the plane touched down at Portland International Airport, the tires hit the runway with a scream so loud that the woman next to me grabbed her armrest.
I didn’t move.
I had stopped flinching at things three days earlier.
My name is Amelia. I’m thirty-five years old. And that morning, in a little village in northern Portugal, I buried my husband, James, in soil that didn’t belong to either of us.
I turned my phone on before the plane even reached the gate. The flight attendant gave me a look. I didn’t care.
My fingers were shaking.
Not from the cold.
From hope. Some small, stupid, desperate part of me still believed my family would be waiting.
I opened our family group chat. It was called The Brandts with a little house emoji. My mother had named it. It had my mom, my dad, my older brother Troy, his wife Kelsey, and me.
I typed:
My flight arrives at 5:00 p.m. Can someone please pick me up?
I hit send before I could change my mind.
The three typing dots appeared almost right away.
For a second, I felt something loosen in my chest. Someone was answering. Someone was coming.
Then Troy’s message popped up.
Troy: We’re overwhelmed today. Just get an Uber.
I read it once. Then again.
A few seconds later, my mother answered.
Mom: Why didn’t you plan this more carefully? You know Tuesdays are difficult for everyone.
I stared at the screen until the words went blurry.
Plan more carefully.
As if I had scheduled my husband’s brain aneurysm.
As if his death had been something I could have put on the family calendar a few weeks ahead, between Kelsey’s book club and Dad’s dentist appointment.
The plane jerked to a stop at the gate. All around me, people stood up and started pulling bags out of the overhead bins. Somebody’s elbow hit my shoulder. A man behind me was on the phone telling someone, “Yeah, babe, just landed, I’ll see you outside in ten.”
I looked down at my phone again.
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t remind them that for the past five days, I’d identified James’s body in a cold room in a foreign hospital. That I’d signed forms in a language I didn’t speak, with a translator who kept apologizing. That I’d chosen a coffin by pointing at a picture in a binder. That I’d stood alone at his grave that morning while an old priest said words I didn’t understand.
I just typed two words.
Lila Hart is a dedicated Digital Archivist and Research Specialist with a keen eye for preserving and curating meaningful content. At TheArchivists, she specializes in organizing and managing digital archives, ensuring that valuable stories and historical moments are accessible for generations to come.
Lila earned her degree in History and Archival Studies from the University of Edinburgh, where she cultivated her passion for documenting the past and preserving cultural heritage. Her expertise lies in combining traditional archival techniques with modern digital tools, allowing her to create comprehensive and engaging collections that resonate with audiences worldwide.
At TheArchivists, Lila is known for her meticulous attention to detail and her ability to uncover hidden gems within extensive archives. Her work is praised for its depth, authenticity, and contribution to the preservation of knowledge in the digital age.
Driven by a commitment to preserving stories that matter, Lila is passionate about exploring the intersection of history and technology. Her goal is to ensure that every piece of content she handles reflects the richness of human experiences and remains a source of inspiration for years to come.