Blogfest of Death- Six Days Late and A Dollar Short

 Flight 187 from London to Washington started out as any other.  It had been a long time since I had taken a plane.  And it had been years since I visited my family in the United States.  The small flight from Paris to London had gone smoothly.  My husband and I had drawn straws as to who would take our youngest daughter Matilda on their laps.  
He lost.

My son Henry was almost six years old and much better behaved than his two year old sister.  He was so excited as we boarded that airplane. He loved everything that could fly; birds, bees, planes, kites… It fascinated him. I once caught him sitting atop our second story window, arms stretched out wide and his favorite used and stained blanky tied around his shoulders like a cape. I remember him saying dramatically : “Mother. I am ready to fly and take on my destiny!”

 Thankfully I caught him before he leapt out the window to his death. The window has since been bared and I burned our copy of Superman that afternoon.

We took our seats at the very front of the airplane. We always try to get those seats. You’ve got just a few centimeters of leg room more than the others and you don’t have to worry about accidentally bumping the person in front of you with your folded up knees when you take a nap.

The take off went smoothly. It’s always my favorite part. There’s something so awe inspiring at leaving the ground far beneath you. My son and I looked out from the window seat while my poor husband tried to keep Matilda from clawing his face off so she could look out too.

Hours passed and darkness fell. The pretty stewardess asked if anyone would like anything else before handing out polar blankets and small pillows and tucking us in like loving den mothers. The lights in the airplane dimmed and some romantic comedy popped up on the big screen for those that didn’t feel like napping.

Unfortunately my two children definitely didn’t feel like napping and a romantic comedy just wasn’t going to do it for them.

I was about to take out their favorite books from my traveling bag when the plane lurched to its side and we heard a loud ‘thump’. Everyone perked up and sat up a bit straighter in their chairs, casting worried glances around. My husband and I even smiled at each other knowingly as Henry’s eyes grew wide. “It’s just turbulence.” I told him. He unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled into my lap where I buckled my seatbelt around him and hugged him close.

But then it happened again. The plane seemed to fall several feet at once and the lights dimmed. Another lurch to the opposite side. Another loud thump.

People began to gasp and murmur. The seatbelt light came on and the stewardess’s rushed to the front of the plane and strapped themselves in dutifully.

The captain’s voice came on over the loud speaker in a muffled crispy sort of way “Ladies and Gentlemen. This is the Captain speaking. As you can imagine we are experiencing some turbulence. We require that everyone remain in their seats with their seatbelts fastened. We will be…”

And then everything went black. There were no small carpet lights leading the way down the alleys. No exit signs. Nothing. The plane was pitched into total darkness.

“Oh my God, We’re Falling!” someone screamed.

I felt my husband’s hand clutch mine. “Mommy what’s happening?” I heard Henry’s voice and felt his body stiffen. For once my baby Matilda was sound asleep in my husband’s arms. She didn’t make a sound. “I don’t kn..” I started but I couldn’t finish. The air in the plane began to depressurize and we began to fall. My stomach lurched up into my throat and it made speaking near impossible. Yet many of the people around us screamed without cease. My son clutched me with all his force and buried his head in my chest. I began to pray silently. “Dear God, …Please exist! Please help us to stay together, Please!!”

I squeezed my husband’s hand. And then I began to yell with all my force.

“Andy!! Andy! You listen to me!” I screamed. “You hold on to Matilda!!” My nails must have been biting into his skin but he didn’t respond. “You hold on to Matilda!” I repeated. “And you hold on to me!!”

My other hand clutched around my son. “Henry!! Can you hear me!?” I felt him nod into my chest. “Baby, don’t be afraid!...Something’s going to happen...."  I swallowed against the pain in my chest and throat. 
"...We’re going to die, baby. But it’s going to be o.k.! Mommy and Daddy are going to stay with you, do you hear me??!!” He nodded once more but I felt his little fingers cling around my back. “You just hold on to Mommy! I’ve got you! And I’ve got Daddy and Matilda! You just stay with me! Andy stay with me! We’ve got to stay together!” I screamed, panicked.

We held each other like that for a long time, quiet in our own thoughts as the plane went down. People around us screamed. Random objects flew around the cabin and my ears hurt so badly. I felt like I was going to faint and vomit all at once and my son could have been suffocating from the way I was clutching him to me.  And the only thought running through my head is ‘We have to stay together’. I was too shocked to cry. All I could do was repeat this thought through my head over and over again.

The cabin door swung open briefly. I could hear the pilot’s calls and imagine him trying different buttons and knobs, trying to get our plane to miraculously wake up and bring us to safety. But I could also see the massive front windows and there was no mistaking the body of water that was mere moments away from enveloping us. At this point, no one was screaming anymore. Those that had been before probably ran out of air or fainted. Besides the sound of rushing air and flying objects hitting their targets, everything was silent.

And then we hit. I felt a brief ‘pop’ and a pain. 


The pain was everywhere.

And it occurred to me in the briefest of moments that the closest I could come to describing death was giving birth. Both were terrifying. And there was pain. So much pain that you wondered how one could endure it and still live. And then you have to face your fear and get the hard part over with. You give birth. You die.

In either case, when it’s done, nothing will ever be the same. And you are usually left with something beautiful, a sense of a miracle.

In this case, after the pain came darkness. Nothingness. A black void. Slowly but surely the ability to ‘think’ came back to me. And it occurred to me that I couldn’t feel my child in my arms. I couldn’t ‘feel’ anything. The ability to feel that comes with owning a body doesn’t really exist in the state I am now. I couldn’t see anything. Not the plane or the crash, or other people. There was nothing but darkness everywhere.

And that is how I have stayed since it happened. Just my own thoughts attached to nothing, seeing nothing. For a while I didn’t remember who I was and it occurred to me that I was not simply Caroline Adams anymore. Before I was even born, I had been someone else. Something else. It was like fitting into an old skin and then realizing that it had been on you all along. Memories began to come back to me. They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. But I can attest that this happens some time after the fact.

I've remained this way for countless hours and from the moment I was able to recollect myself, my life, and what happened to me- I have felt the need to replay it over and over. To remind myself. To never forget.

A light is flickering in the distance and my whole being rises to attention. The darkness is finally being breached. As the light falls upon me I realize that my consciousness is growing outwards. I am no longer just unattached thoughts, I am a being. I have extremities, like I did in life. But it’s different. Here I am but energy. And emotion. Oh God. The light is so beautiful. And as it falls and lifts away the darkness I realize that attached to my extremities are other beings beside me. Henry. Andy. Matilda. We are still clutching to each other as we did in life. Like me, their bodies no longer exist but we recognize each other immediately and the emotion is overwhelming. The last strands of fear of the unknown fall away and are replaced with love and thankfulness. Overwhelming joy and love engulf us along with that heavenly light and I know, finally, that I didn’t lie to my little boy when I told him everything was going to be o.k.