Plane

There is a story in the news right now about an accident aboard a Southwest Airlines plane, in which an engine ruptured, damaging the plane and killing a passenger. You can read a bit about it here, and particularly about the magnificent pilot who safely landed the damaged aircraft and prevented further loss of life. If you are inclined, you can find audio of the conversation between the pilot and the control tower in various places online.  I cannot listen -- for it is one of my pet fears brought to life.

-----
I do not like to fly. I'm not an anxious flyer (more likely, a prone-to-airsickness flyer), but I do occasionally fret about the what ifs of air travel. I know I am much more likely to be squashed in a car accident or suffer some untoward medical emergency than to perish in a plane crash; still, there is something more viscerally terrifying about being miles up in the atmosphere, and then plummeting to one's doom.

I'm not ready to slip the surly bonds of earth, yet.

Why? Because, I think: the Offspring, though nearly grown, still need me, as does Beloved Husband. I know they'd manage, certainly -- none of us can pretend to be truly indispensable -- but I am loath to leave them without the safety and help I may be able to provide in times of need. And what of my siblings, my parents, my friend? They would manage, too, no doubt. But still.

Perhaps my dislike of flying stems from the fact that I recognize quite clearly how much my life is enriched by these people, and I project my own feelings of potential loss onto any imagined disaster. I am not ready for the possibility of letting go of these people, just yet.

What if I don't get one last chance to tell all those who are so important to me, how much they really mean to me?

I hope that they already know.

And I hope, too, that I will have much more Time to show them.