Planes Crash
a story and a poem because tragedies keep happening
The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater. —Haldir in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by JRR Tolkien
This past weekend was full of laughter, celebration, friendship, fellowship, and joy. I attended my cousin’s wedding reception and was honored to wear purple in honor of our life-long cousin-friendship.
Then my other cousin (sister to the one whose wedding we attended) and I flew to Nashville to spend a few days together and see our favorite artist—Ryan O’Neal of Sleeping At Last—perform at the Ryman Theater. Unforgettable, thrilling, amazing. We ate amazing food, had long chats, spent time with childhood and college friends, and experienced our favorite artist together.
We were both sad to see the end of our adventure, but of course, we both had that maternal longing to see our kiddos.
Early Tuesday morning, I slipped out of the hotel room as my cousin slept (soundly, I hope) to catch my Lyft to the airport. Most of the morning I ruminated on the worst possibilities of the flight; I felt anxious and sick to my stomach.
Once upon a time, I loved airports, and I loved flying. The people-watching, the adventure, the possibilities, the view from the sky. Thrilling. But after I had children, things changed. Now, when flying, I find it difficult to think of much else than the plane crashing. My brain plays out a scenario of my husband telling our children that their mother is not coming home.
Likely, this fear has to do with the fact that as teenagers, my brothers and I were told that our dad wasn’t coming home. He had in fact, died on a plane, though not from a crash (a heart attack). As a child, I also experienced the death of my cousin who was a mother to babies and a toddler at the time. I remember being so confused at how the toddler and baby would experience the sudden and permanent absence of their mother. Comparing different types of death is not worthwhile, because death is death, and it is all devastating in some capacity. And yet, how can a child ever make sense of the news that a parent is never coming home again?
So this past Tuesday… My fears were alleviated some when I focused on others’ needs and prayed for them. I also had some coursework to complete and continue in my re-read of Anne of Green Gables. But the fear was continually there, nagging, taunting.
When I made it home, embraced my husband, and picked up my kids from after-school care, I thanked God, over and over again.
And then, on Wednesday I received the news that a friend’s husband was in a privately owned, small plane, and it crashed. My friend and her husband have three young children. The exact freak accident I was afraid would happen to me happened to my friend’s husband, on the same day I traveled. The very news I feared my husband would have to tell our kids, was told to my friend’s kids.
Since Wednesday, I’ve been disoriented. My mind spins trying to make sense of the tragedy. God is faithful and good; I firmly believe this. Death is devastating and tragic; I know this. Two things can be true at the same time, and the latter of those two things creates a deep ache that never fully dissipates. Thankfully, the former of those two things runs deeper and farther than any ache, and the peace of Christ fills the darkest chasm in our hearts. We fall into the tension of Christ’s peace and death’s despair, and it’s not necessarily comfortable.
Processing tragedies is easiest for me to do on paper, and so, that’s what I’ve done here. Just my real and raw processing.
To live is Christ; to die is gain. But what about the ones left behind? Imagine their unimaginable agony. Oh, what I would give to make all their pain mine. Sweet brown eyes, Big blue eyes, Curious gray eyes, Oh, my heart explodes with love for you. My feet hesitate before walking the platform as my brain screams, "It's a metal death trap!" Like a movie, I see the scene when they find out I'm not coming home. "Look at the statistics" they say. "Your fear is irrational." But they can't deny, bridges collapse, buildings burn, and planes crash. My brain fixates on humanity's fragility, Breakable bones, burnable skin, susceptible hearts. Finiteness does not morph to invincibility. "Get off the plane!" screams anxiety. But I'm buckled, and my hands are frozen. My feet hit solid ground. "God, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..." An unforgettable trip and a safe flight home, New treasured memories, Stored permanently in my heart. "Ahh, all is well," I sigh as I embrace them at pick-up. And then, the news arrives, Unfair, devastating, agonizing, haunting news. Bridges collapse, buildings burn, and his plane crashed. His bones broke, his skin burned, his heart stopped. Against their will, his wife and children are imprisoned in their greatest nightmare. But it's not actually a nightmare. Isn't it cruel to face such horrors while awake? Those are the realest ones; the ones from which we cannot awaken. Every terrifying moment is experienced in real life. The refrain I listen to says, "In our great sorrow, we learn what joy means."* I believe it; she believes it. For to live is Christ; to die is gain. God is faithful, this I truly believe. I do. But reader, can I be honest? Truth niether removes this lump from my throat nor alleviates the burning in my lungs. Truth smokes out and reveals my deepest aches; the ugly groans usually silenced, now cry out, "Unfair! Unjust! Turn back time!" For now, let us weep. Let us gather and grieve. Let us be alone and scream. We'll learn what joy and faithfulness and peace mean.
*A line from the song Sorrow written and performed by Ryan O’Neal of Sleeping At Last. Go check it out!
Thank you for reading. My heart is aching, and I’m sure yours is too for your own reasons. We see tragedies every day, don’t we.
May you find the same hope in Christ that I’ve found each time I faced death and disaster and disorder.
“For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain,” Ephesians 1:21
Peace to you and yours,
Kelly
One of the verses I always think of when faced with a grief like this is John 11:35 "Jesus wept". He is God and knew He would soon turn their sorrow into joy when He raises Lazarus, but in this verse we see a glimpse into the sorrow Jesus feels along with us.