A Promise Kept at 10,000 Feet

“Please forgive me. I am assuming you have a loved one’s remains in your carry-on?”

“Yes, sir. I am taking my late wife with me to finish the trip we started after her diagnosis.”

This is how our conversation started.

Well, it started when he asked our A flight attendant to speak with the Captain.

She came up to the flight deck to tell me that a passenger was distraught about having to put his carry-on bag in the overhead bin.

She told me he was very respectful, that he was in no way causing a disturbance, but simply was upset about having to be separated from his bag.

She knew what I knew.

She relayed to me the few details she had, but we both saw it in each other’s eyes. It’s the look when you’ve lost someone dear. We both knew.

I went back to talk to him.

“Please forgive me. I am assuming you have a loved one’s remains in your carry-on?”

“Yes, sir. I am taking my late wife with me to finish the trip we started after her diagnosis.”

“I understand. We only have a few options here. We all understand.”

He nodded. I got the impression he nodded because he was being heard.

In my industry, we call it getting in the RED. On the flight deck, when we get in the RED with stress, we rely on our partner to help pull us back into the yellow and then the green. He was in the RED about being separated from his wife.

“Per regulation, because your bag is large, it has to go above you in the overhead bin. Just temporarily. When we get above 10,000 feet, we will bring her down for you. And I will climb as fast as safely possible to get us to 10,000 feet as quickly as possible.”

He was sliding back into the green.

My A flight attendant was sitting next to him, reassuring him she would be there at 10,000 feet.

Others were listening in.

“I don’t need to get back to the flight deck for a bit. We are still boarding. I would love to hear about your travels and your wife.”

He was eager to talk.

“When she was diagnosed, we decided to sell our house. We sold everything. All she wanted to do was travel. We bought a camper van and drove. Our children were not excited about this at all! Grandchildren though? They will be boarding soon. They are in the C group. They are coming along!”

“I love this story,” said my A flight attendant.

He continued. “We bought a camper van and the plan was to travel to as many state parks as we could in the time we had left. She loved wine and whiskey. A glass of one or the other a night and the future ahead. We made it to ten parks. I’m headed back to Zion to finish the journey with her grandkids.”

“She passed in Utah?” my A flight attendant asked.

We were on our way to Las Vegas, and that made sense.

“Yes, Zion. My wife was always a stickler for the rules. Even on this trip, she never wanted to camp or park without a permit or authorization. In Zion, we found the perfect spot. She didn’t argue that we didn’t have a permit. We were so far away from everything. I pulled the mattress out and we had a glass of wine at sunset. We slept under the stars. We slept outdoors. She passed away that night in my arms. My body kept her body warm even after she passed away.”

I took a breath at that one.

We all did.

He had replayed the moment so often it was their story. He may not have known the gravity of that image. He didn’t skip a beat, though we all did.

Boarding the aircraft can be chaotic, but the plane was silent.

Even my passengers coming aboard knew this was a solemn moment.

Those who were listening knew this was a special moment.

He continued.

“I awoke with her in my arms. I knew she had passed. I lay with her and watched the sunrise. We watched the sunset and we watched the sunrise. She was in my arms. The sun came up. There were only two people on Earth, and I wanted it to last forever.”

Our passenger was a realist. Though the story was passionate, he didn’t hold back. I was drawn to him because I knew he had dark comedy.

“Now listen. We were way out there! Nobody knew we were there. As reality set in, I knew what I had to do.”

I wasn’t sure what was next.

“I had to get her back in the van. I’m an old man. She trusted me with this spot because she knew we wouldn’t get caught. Now she trusted me with getting her home. I was able to pull her and the mattress up to the van and hoist her in. It wasn’t pretty, but I knew she would love the story. If someone told us this story, she would be the first to say something about the movie Weekend at Bernie’s.”

We knew what he meant and didn’t ask for more details.

“But when I got back to the ranger station, they told me we were on Native grounds when she passed, and there were several jurisdictions involved. Tedious, but in my heart I knew this is exactly what my wife wanted! I knew she would want a story. I bet she would love that I was here telling you all about it now!”

This may have been the first telling, but a story it was. If this was her plan, then the plan worked. I was holding court, but he held the audience. All my passengers within earshot were listening.

He told us about having to prove to the State and Native agencies that there was no foul play. He told us about getting her remains back home and then preparing for the trip back to finish the journey.

He told us about how, though his children were still unhappy about their parents selling everything for this trip, they were happy their children could finish it with him.

I kept my promise and climbed as quickly as possible through 10,000 feet so as to keep his time apart from his wife to a minimum.

My A flight attendant told me that after landing with his grandchildren in the back of the plane, they often asked to ensure their grandparents were together and that their Papa was happy.

In my industry, there are many ways to get paid to fly.

I love flying airplanes, but I love flying people.

It’s easy to forget about our passengers when we close the door.

Moments like this remind me why I love my job.