Saturday, January 24, 2015

A Flying Tradition

Every time I hear about another plane crash. I’m reminded of when I first began to fear flying. I was 17 and in France with a group from school. As we were preparing to go back to the United States, I found myself terrified to board the airplane. I knew I wouldn’t have a choice and the thought filled me with anxiety.
            It was the summer of 1985. The only terrorist threat to a commercial airplane at the time had been hijackings and those had been out of style for years.  All that changed when an Air India plane was brought down by a terrorist’s bomb on June 23, 1985. All 328 passengers and crew were killed.  I was in France at the time. Our tour group didn’t get a lot of news and most of what I saw was on the front page of French newspapers. I surmised it was serious when I saw the adults whispering out of range of our ears. We were flying one week after the crash. Every time I saw the charred wreckage on the front of a newspaper; I knew I didn’t want to step into that airplane.
As our departure date neared I became obsessed with talking to my Dad. After all, he was the one who explained the theory of flight to me and he always kept me safe. Dad was an aeronautical engineer and spent his career designing the very type of airplane I would board.  He had flown in test flights taking off on the top of mountains in Peru. For most of his career, he traveled all over the world selling these planes to international airlines. I knew that Dad wouldn’t allow me to board a plane in a situation he didn’t feel was completely safe for his little girl.
            International calls weren’t easy back then. We didn’t have cell phones or laptops.  I tried to call collect once but French operators and the time difference made it difficult.  Eventually, my folks called me at the hotel pay phone.  I honestly don’t remember what he said. I wish I could make it sound awe inspiring. I know he assured me that the plane was safe and well designed. And that security was being heightened with this new threat.  It didn’t really matter because after that I was no longer worried. If Dad said it was safe, then I knew I would be soon be safely home.

            After this, it became normal for me to call Dad every time was I was going to fly. It seemed to me that each time I was preparing to fly an air plane crashed or a new threat was discovered. Before boarding any plane, I knew I needed to talk to Dad. It became part of my trip preparation; pack my toiletries, passport and call Dad. Sometimes we’d talk about planes and their safety. Sometimes we just talked about my destination. The subject didn’t really matter just hearing his voice put me at ease. 

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Singing with Dad

My earliest memories in the cab of my Dad’s truck singing old hymns. I loved climbing up in the cab and sitting beside him while he sang.

“There’s within my heart a melody. . .” his baritone voice bellowed.

He was not a trained singer but to my young ears his was the most beautiful voice in the world. Those old hymns remain among my favorites; In the Garden, Just a Closer Walk with Thee, I Love to Tell the Story, and The Old Rugged Cross. I first learned about Jesus and his love for me listening to Dad sing. The singing together stopped as I grew older. Looking back I know that chronic back pain took away many things. And over the past few years, Parkinson’s robbed him of much more. Conversations became difficult and tired Dad out. So when I was planning my visit with Dad last summer it became important to me that I would sing for Dad.

I purchased a ukulele and had it shipped to my folks so it was waiting for me when I arrived. It was a pleasure to spend a little bit of each day singing for Dad. Emily joined in and we sang songs at his request. One of the songs he requested was Just As I Am. What a joy to share with him the songs that meant so much to him.

Ten days ago, it became evident that Dad’s body had reached its limit. The end was coming and I knew what I wanted to do. I couldn’t travel out to be with him at his bedside but I could sing one last time for him. And so I did, I would have liked to sing more for him but I created a couple of videos for him. My family played it for him on their phones. Dad sang music into me and I wanted music to be part of my good bye to him.



Dad passed on Friday, January 16, 2015. He was surrounded by family and peacefully left the pain of this life behind. Sing on, Dad. I love you.