I have had two different bus drivers enter my life, one right before Izzy’s death and one after, who have helped transport me along this unbelievable journey.

Gail, who had been a source of inspiration for me in my early days of grief and has been a pivotal part of the study that drives the writings on this site, has been a school bus driver for over two decades. While she has never physically transported me anywhere, her words of wisdom and even her silence have delivered me to a destination that I did not know existed – HOPE. There was, however, another bus driver in my life who did actually drive me from one location to another but not without first delivering a foreboding message to me.

Since losing my son, I am attracted to individuals who have gone through bleak times and yet remain miraculously positive. There is so much to learn from these rare beings. Some such individuals I have actively sought during times of need, while others crossed by path serendipitously and shared unsolicited nuggets of wisdom that I would come to need later on. I am reminded of one such instance of an ominous chat I had with a stranger a few weeks before I lost my son.

At the time I did not realize it was profound, yet I remember being very moved by the conversation. I was waiting to board a bus to New York City for a fun weekend getaway. As I was waiting outside in the unseasonable hot late-October day I heard a voice say, “Is that your name? Is your name Celeste?” The question was asked by a man in his late 60s in a uniform and I quickly realized he was the bus driver. He was looking at my luggage tag. I explained that Celeste is my middle name, and it is a family name held by my sister, my mother, and great-grandmother.

He was pensive when replying, “That was my daughter’s name”. His use of the word was indicated that she was no longer living. I was caught off guard and did not know what to say, but I uttered, “Did she pass away recently?”

He explained that he lost his vibrant young daughter when she was only 19 years old. She was riding in the car with her fiancé when a tire fell off causing the car to crash. He called it a “freak accident” and she died immediately on impact. With genuine sympathy I said, “I have two sons and I can’t imagine how that feels”. I cannot say I was being empathic because I would not even allow myself to go there mentally and envision the amount of pain that losing a child would cause me. “That’s the worst thing that can happen to a person”, I said regarding losing a child. These words just sprung from my mouth, but I am not sure where I had retrieved that piece of information.

I was trying to be a source of comfort as I could see the tears welling up in his eyes as he was brought back to that day over 40 years earlier. Instinctively knowing this was every mother’s worst nightmare, I asked him how his wife managed to go on after the loss. He said she was “hit hard” but did not expand on what he meant by that. He talked about his other children and his life now. He retired a few years earlier but took this job recently to get out of the house and talk to people. He was an inspiration as he was living proof that one could make it through the other side of a tragedy. A mere two weeks after this conversation was the last time I saw my son and I was now in this stranger’s shoes.

Although I never saw this man again, I consider this bus driver as one of my guides because this conversation helped prepare me for what was to come. I would then meet another wise bus driver by the name of Gail who would help transport me to the next stop on my grief journey.

I shared this story with Gail and she was shocked because she had an eerily similar experience. She tells the story of her conversation:

“Six weeks prior to Kyle’s death there was a young man who died by suicide. The family’s
well known in our area. So, when it happened, another bus driver had told me about it.
And I remembered so well because the driver said, ‘Hey, did you hear about so and so,
his son died by suicide’ and it was such a shock. And I said to him, ‘I would never want
to be in that position!’ And six weeks later, when this happened with Kyle, that driver
came back to me. He was an elderly guy and I could see he was heartbroken. He had
tears in his eyes, and he said, ‘I’ll never forget that you said, you never want to be in this
position and here you are.’ But I never THOUGHT. Who would have thought?”

Gail believes that these conversations are not coincidental but rather intentional to help us comprehend future events. They may not hold significant meaning to us in the moment, but reflection helps process such encounters. I view Gail and Celeste’s father, the NYC bus driver, as my messenger-transporter-guides. They both gave me what I needed exactly when I required it. One I sought out during my desperation, the other approached me and provided me the first glimpse into my world as a grieving parent.