In Dad's Heaven, They Give You a Free Plane

It happened suddenly and too soon.

I hear his footsteps, late at night on the wooden floorboards, as he makes his way to bed.  I see him out of the corner of my eye as I walk by his study.  His glasses lie abandoned on the desk, as if he has only gone out to get a drink or answer the door.  How can it be real?

As I think of him, memories crowd at me, each begging for attention.  Eventually, it's the early years that float to the top.

Fossicking around the back of a hangar, listening to the clink of tools, as he worked adjustments on the plane before a flight.  Coarse, wheaten grass stubs digging into my bare feet, as I sprint down the runway in the hot sunshine, following a tiny dot in the sky.  The smell of old leather and engine oil.

He loved flying and aircraft.  In his youth, he and his uncle built a bi-plane.  A Gypsy Moth.  Later, he would take me flying in the Tiger moth, Red Baron-style.  I remember the pressure on my face as he turned victory rolls and corkscrews.  I would be laughing, screaming, unsure whether the feeling was thrill or terror.  And so, he would stop and fly on sedately.  Smiling with the joyous fun of it all.

Later, when a growing family precluded the expense of an aircraft, he flew for his company.  An expedient arrangement - you take the aerial photographs for free and we'll pay for the plane.  The front seat would come out of the Cessna and a camera would then be strapped across the opening.   As we flew, the wind would rush up in drafts, messing my hair and conversation was only possible in yelled sound bites, over the drone of the engine. A patchwork of farms, in many shades of green, floated beneath us.  We would make a game of trying to identify landmarks as we flew over.

Sometimes, he would let me fly.  Take the aircraft up (pull the steering wheel gently) and down (push, always watching your instruments). He never tired of the thrill of it.  I think flying freed something in him that was never loose anywhere else.

Dads and daughters have a unique relationship.  Not always an easy one.  But it plays a big part in making us who we are.

Now as I watch my husband with my daughters, I wonder what memories they're storing away.  The sights, the sounds, the smells that will leap out at them when it's their turn for this moment.

And I want to urge them.  Take it in.  Watch carefully.  Be patient.

Love lasts forever, but your time can end suddenly.

And way too soon.