You knew I needed you even though I was too afraid to ask. I was returning to my hometown to say farewell to my dying father, and I had no idea when I’d return. This was a one-way flight for an undetermined amount of time. You’d never guess I’d left behind two little daughters (ages 3 and 2) as I sat with my 7-month-old twins. You had no idea I was saying goodbye to one member of my family while leaving another behind.

However, you stepped in as tears ran down all three of our cheeks. My twins were sobbing uncontrollably in the midst of the journey. We’d already flown from Washington to Minneapolis and had spent far too much time in transit. We were all fatigued by the end of the excursion.

Our regular tight regimen at home was completely thrown out the window this day, and my twins were not having it. Why would they, though? At the time, they were just 7 months old. They were feeding off my furious energy, and everything just blew up halfway through the flight.

The entire plane seemed to be rolling its eyes at my half-hearted attempt to quiet their screams. Everyone was entitled to be irritated. None of you were aware that one of my twins sobbed nonstop all day, every day. She was one of those babies that was never happy or at ease. I was used to ignoring her screams, and I’m sure I did so while we were all trapped in that plane.

To be honest, I really wanted to stand in the aisle and shout, ‘If you’re weary of hearing this sobbing, please come and help me!’ I knew one of the main reasons they were going nuts was that they both needed to breastfeed, but I had no idea how they could do it in the center of a plane with no cushions to support them. I wasn’t even in the right frame of mind to try to figure out such technicalities, which is why I prepared bottles ahead of time for them.

You took the girl who was bouncing in my lap and sat in the empty seat next to me. You held my kid in your arms and sung her a lullaby while staring her down while I offered you a ready-made bottle of milk. I was nearly embarrassed for not being able to do the same for my own children, but I was grateful for your grace at the time.

You never made me feel inadequate. Instead, you demonstrated the highest amount of empathy I’ve ever witnessed, and it occurred during my worst hour. You moved and sang to her as if you were a member of her family back home, loving her as she needed it at the time. Loving each of us in the way that each of us needed at the moment.

I was doing everything all by myself, and you may have noticed that my spirits were low. I was both mentally and emotionally fatigued. In retrospect, I couldn’t have cared for those girls on my own, let alone traveling across the country with them.

I couldn’t leave my exclusively breastfed babies at home when I didn’t know how long I’d be gone. It felt like a lose-lose situation for all of us, but you have to do what you have to do sometimes. All you have to do is go on that plane with your two children and hope that the eye rolls and sighs don’t damage your already low self-esteem.

I’m not sure if we discussed the situation I was in. It’s strange how words can be forgotten, yet how someone makes you feel will always be remembered. Perhaps an angel spoke to you loudly enough that you felt compelled to respond.

Maybe your maternal instinct kicked in when you discovered both of the babies screaming…belonged to me. Maybe you saw me suffering and thought that someone needed to step up. Perhaps you simply put yourself in my shoes and did what you would expect someone to do for you. Maybe you’re just a nice person who helps others whenever she can.

My biggest regret is that I did not photograph you holding my baby. It sometimes feels that in today’s world, if anything isn’t captured on camera, it never happened. I have no idea what your name is or where you are from. I honestly have no idea what you look like. But I really wish I could.

You saved my sanity, as well as the sanity of everyone else on that flight. Everyone else might easily sit back and make assumptions about my parenting ability. Instead, you saw a mother in need and jumped in without hesitation.

Flying with children is one of the most terrifying experiences I’ve ever had, and it’s comforting to know that some people understand that the pressure to be perfect isn’t always possible. Sometimes I wish people would try harder to help or at least smile at a suffering mother.

I couldn’t go around with a sign that read, ‘Flying alone with twins to bid goodbye to my dying father while simultaneously leaving behind my other two girls.’ But if I could go back in time, I think I’d make myself that sign. Grief cannot be seen with the naked eye, but perhaps if they could have seen the words, people might have been more understanding or empathic.

Thank you very much. Thank you for treating me with dignity and love when I needed it the most. I hope this letter finds its way to you, and I hope you remember us from our flight photo. I hope you realize you spared a mother from a mental breakdown at 35,000 feet in the air.