Flight Of The Departed

The small private jet sharply descended, mimicking a roller coaster ride. Totally unprepared for the violet motion of it. My stomach was roiling, and acid churned. The turbulence was getting worse. I looked outside one of the oval windows, only to be met with angry snowflakes beating against the small lear jet. This blizzard had created whiteout conditions.

Damn it, we shouldn’t have flown today. But I had to keep my Mother’s funeral plans. 

The pressurized metallic odor permeated the small luxurious cabin. The jet took another sharp dive, and the screeching sound echoed around me. I glanced at the red mahogany casket tethered on the opposite side of my seat. The elegant, glossy death luggage bumped into the side of the plane. I could see the grey tethered straps straining from the violent movements. It was as if the casket itself was fighting to be free.

Of course, my Mother’s casket would be fighting; she always wanted to be in charge of her own death.

Boom!

I quickly turned my head to my window. Yellow and orange flames licked out from one of the jet engines. 

“What is happening!” I cried to one of the pilots. Two pilots were flying this private plane that my Mother had arranged for.  

Six months prior, my Mother had her first stroke, she never recovered fully. After two decades of living in chronic pain, she decided that, in the end, she did not want to feel any pain. After conducting in-depth research, Mother convinced me to relocate her to a state that allows for assisted death.

I was her constant companion and caregiver. At times, I felt that my birth was just for her to have a live in nurse. Now in my mid-40s, this was the final act of caring for my Mother. After her death, I could live life to the fullest. To be free!

So, it was understood that the minute her health declined, I would move with her to a state where we could give her pain-free exit from this life to the next. In the end, her death was without pain, and my promise to her had been met.

This final act was to fly her back home, where she could be buried in her hometown, and I would meet up with the rest of my family. 

Now I’m stuck on a private plane, fighting to get back home with an engine on fire and my Mother’s casket beside me.

Nausea assaulted me, and my stomach was filling quickly with acid. The palms of my hands were tingling and sweating at the same time. I tried to remain calm but could not believe this was happening.

“We just lost the other engine,” yelled one of the pilots. The pilot’s frantic announcement broke through my troubling thoughts, “Hold on, we’re going down.”

My eyes looked again out the window. I saw a white blanket with scattered trees through the falling snow. The engine was omitting charcoal smoke, looking like a twisted snake curling up and dissipating into nothing. We’re going down. I stared at my Mother’s casket beside me.

Did you ever want me to have my own life? Did you have a conversation with God, telling him you need me with you in life and death, too? 

The plane was quickly losing altitude. The cabin was filled with rancid acid and stale air. 

My seat belt was biting into my wool pink sweater from the downward trajectory. It was crushing the last bit of air from my burning lungs. My eyes began to fill with tears. 

The screeching scream of the plane was so loud that my ears were throbbing and popping simultaneously. Trying to keep my eyes glued straight ahead, looking through the cockpit as the white, snowy ground rapidly approached.

My Mother’s casket broke free from its position and came bumping into fingers that were gripping the arm seat. Without thought, I whipped out my arm to grab onto the glossy, cold casket as if it were a lifeline. 

As the white ground with scattered trees drew closer to the cockpit window, I took one last look at the casket.

 I knew you’d be the death of me. You won.

The crash of the plane hitting the ground was my last vision; a flash of the cockpit structure came at me like a tidal wave, then darkness swallowed me whole.