How the death of someone you don’t know can leave a lasting impact

The day I experienced the death of a man on the airport bus started like any other ‘I am off on a trip’ day. We are all familiar with the early morning flight routine. You wake up having not really slept, then torpedo through your home like you have already missed your flight. There is an edginess about an early morning flight. Like the stakes of missing it are higher.

I jumped in the shower, flung on clothes, and was soon in an Uber taxi. It is one of my travel fears – ‘what if there are no Ubers available at 4am when you need one’. It remains a fear for my next early morning flight.

As I arrived at Glasgow bus station I glanced around the stance, now fully awake, noting it was a mere 4.20am. That’s when I spotted the characters sharing the stance with me. The cute couple, cuddled into each other like they were still asleep, two guys in hoodies and then the old man. He was really old, definitely in his 80s, wearing an old man jacket. And a covid mask. I’m not even sure why I felt drawn to him but I sat next to him in the waiting area. And thought, ‘ I wonder how the elderly man arrived at the bus station so early in the morning’.

As the bus arrived the man stood up to queue, while I waited where I was to walk on. As the queue moved down he paused to let me on next but I explained, via hand signalling, that he was next. He shook his head and let me on. I boarded just before him, not thinking that this would be the last time I’d see him alive.

The bus departed punctually at 4.30am. A mere 15 minutes later the man was dead, on the bus, sitting two rows in front of at one of those table seats. Slumped in the corner, like in a deep sleep. Expect he was gone, forever.

A man who was sitting across the aisle from him, had noticed his breathing change from heavy to none and informed the driver as we stopped at a bus stop on the Glasgow to Edinburgh airport route.

Meanwhile, as the man was dying, I was listening to a podcast.

Completely oblivious, until a lady boarded the bus and looked at the man, then looked at me and made a face as if to say, ‘Bless’.

As the driver approached the man, I looked at the lady who now had a concerned look on her face, and I realised something wasn’t quite right. And that is when it became clear they were checking if the man had just fallen asleep – it was a very hot bus and still very early in the morning - or if he was dead.

with no pulse the bus driver asked if we could all leave the bus, the man was ‘unofficially’ pronounced dead.

I experienced that feeling, which I can only describe as a mix of surreal ‘is this actually happening’ and anxiety. When your mind and body are confused at:

1. How someone who was very much alive at 4.30am was now dead at 4.45am and

2. Why I was leaving a bus that was to take me to the airport to catch my flight

I flight sick.

As the last person from the top deck finally came down the stairs the driver switched off all the lights. A sign, there was no life left on the bus.

The sick feeling continued, deep in my body.

I was now standing near the bus shelter next to the lady who said ‘bless’ as she boarded the bus and a European girl. As I chatted to them both I found my voice shake as I recalled and shared how I spotted the, now, dead man at the bus waiting area. I apologised for showing my emotions, as us Brits do. But you cant not be touched by these things.

I asked the lady if she knew when she boarded the bus that he was gone. She shook her head before explaining that she thought he was simply sleeping.

So what happened next? Easy, we continued the journey to the airport. The next scheduled bus arrived and we all trundled on, maybe 30 of us. It was now about 5am. What’s that saying, ‘the show goes on’! That, as inconsiderate as it may sound, is the reality of life and death. As one person departs life, life carries on.

We must have seemed a strange bunch, I’ve no idea what the new bus passangers must have thought. Probably that the bus broke down. Not that there was a dead man left behind on the bus. Before I boarded the new bus I popped over to the driver and told him he was doing a good job ‘managing’ the situation. He shrugged and thanked me. What a start to a shift, I really felt for him.

So, I am now on the bus staring out in front. One eye on the time (I had left plenty of time but now time was getting on and it was when there were crazy queues reported at airports across the UK) and one eye gazing out into nothingness, thinking of the man on the bus. Sitting slumped in the corner, no one around him, no family or close friends. Just an empty bus, with the lights off. It seemed very surreal, and not what you would think of when you think of someone passing away. I kept thinking that he must be a great grandad, grandad, dad, husband, uncle, and friend. Lots of questions filled my mind,

‘Who would be receiving a call to say he was gone – his son, daughter?’,

‘Where were they, in Glasgow where he set off or on the other side where he was heading to?’,

‘As he boarded the bus did he feel he was close to the end?’. An endless stream of questions, with no answers.

And so we arrived at the airport and life continued, in every respect it felt normal but tainted, with a shadow of the man. I could spot some of those from my bus sprint a little into the terminal building. And for me, it felt even more normal as I experienced eager early morning travellers attempting to gain some advantage from each other by snaking through makeshift queues. All to clear security, the gateway to adventure! I was in there, part of the snake. Wrestling with travel life.

On the other side of security, I stopped for a coffee. Everywhere I looked I saw them, them being elderly people. People like the man now left on the bus. In my head I whispered to them, ‘don’t waste a second’. If they could hear me, they would probably think I was some crazy elderly person whisperer.

And just like that the elderly person whisperer, me, stepped on the Ryanair plane that would whisk me off to Palma, on the Spanish island of Mallorca. A cheeky Friday to Monday trip for some sun and sunsets, runs, and paddle boarding. To feel alive.

And that’s when I felt the elderly man come along on the journey with me. He continued to be in my thoughts as I explored the cobble streets of Palma that afternoon. Life bustling around me. The questions continued if I allowed my mind to wander back to the morning,

‘Where was he going and where had he been?’,’

‘Did he know he was on his final breaths?’,’

‘Did he have an illness?’,

‘How did his family feel when they heard he died in the bus?’.

Questions I won’t ever know the answer to.

His lasting impact continued.

The next morning I woke for a morning run, when I heard my lazy sloth voice protest ‘ are we running?’. I thought of the man, how he doesn’t have a choice anymore and soon I was out running. The next day as I woke up and thought ‘Are we paddle boarding?’. ‘Yes we are’, the response. Again, a nod to the man.

Of course, the man wasn’t fit enough to jump up and run or paddle board, but I am. So while the only obstacle in my way is myself, I will continue to keep the man in my thoughts. As when our time comes, whether surrounded by family and friends or on a bus heading to the airport, and you feel your breathing slow down you want to look back and know you gave life a good old shot. You woke up and seized the day, you tried new stuff and shared experiences. You didn’t allow your sloth like thoughts steal life from you.

And so my advice to you, keep someone who has passed away close by and use them as your cheerleader. The person who will whisper in your ear as a seed of doubt tries to takeover, ‘Go live life, don’t regret anything’.

‘Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live’. ~ Norman Cousins