When I got on the plane to leave Las Vegas, it was just a few days after the Asiana crash. I know that take-off and landing are the most dangerous parts of flying and, quite often, a time of serious nerves and jaw clenching for me. This time was different. I sat on that plane absolutely sure that that was the safest place to be. I swear I wanted to make an announcement right then that no one needed to fear a thing because I was on that plane and it was not going down.
Sitting on the tarmac, my thoughts drifted to Brandon, again, the place where my mind is most often parked. That usually causes my heart to drop into my stomach because I think about how losing Brandon does not preclude me from losing my daughter or my husband or both. It sounds so morbid to think like that, but there's nothing like a death so close to home to make you brutally aware of how you have no control over anything bad happening to you. It can always be worse. Ask Job, he can confirm that.
I would, however, be surprised to wake up in front of God. In all of my musings on what can be lost, I am sure that my own life is about as safe as it gets right now. I'm not sure enough to go stand in front of a bus and see if I become invisible, but I'm sure enough to want to go sky diving and feel like I could be in a 10000 take-offs and landings without one hair on my head being harmed. I think it's because I wouldn't have minded the plane crashing and waking up in front of God and seeing my boy. I know my life could not possibly be so beautiful and easy as to be whisked off to my son, less than two months after his death.
As I sat down on my second plane, in Oakland, the lady next to me said, "Oh gosh, I hate flying at night, I really try not to." I asked her why, just to entertain myself. I knew the answer and I was prepared to tell her all about the reality. She said, "Because if something happens, I want to be able to see what is going on." Soooo, does daylight make plunging to your death, along with a couple hundred strangers, better...easier? I almost told her exactly how I felt. This plane is the safest place for you, because God is not going to let something happen to me. There's no way He is letting me go to my son yet. In fact, you should consider coming home with me because the car I'm riding in will be the safest one on the road. Seat belts? You don't need no stinkin' seat belts. I know, it's sorta morose, cavalier and I sound like a victim. Believe me, I feel like a victim right now. At any rate, what I said was, "Oh, it'll be fine." I told myself I'd leave it at that, unless she asked why. She did not. I don't know how long I'll feel this way because I'm not even sure of what "this way" means, I don't how to define what I'm feeling (invincible...unstable...who knows), but know that if I die anytime soon, I'm gonna be very surprised.