Wings of Time

The Wings of Time

It was six in the morning, and she was getting on the road. The sun wasn’t up yet, and there was little traffic. She felt a sense of trepidation and excitement. She was on the way to the airport. This would be her first time flying on her own.

Two years ago, this would not have been possible.

Two years ago, she was afraid of flying. Flying, heights, closed spaces and anything where she wasn’t in control. Then the very idea that there was any kind of control was taken from her with the death of her son.

She had been in Newfoundland. She had gone there with her son and other family members It had been an amazing trip.

As a young child, her son had begun diving and found that he was really good at it. He soon became a National Diver, and diving became a part of their life. As part of that life, they travelled across Canada. They travelled to all the provinces, but Newfoundland captured their hearts. They had been to Newfoundland many times for her son ’s diving career, but this trip was different. This trip was simply to visit the island they loved so much. They spent their time traveling from one end of the Island to the other. They visited places that were special for them as well as finding unfamiliar places and making more memories.

On that trip, her son had gone home ahead of her. He was attending a festival, and communication had been full of fits and starts of conversation. The cell service for both of them had been spotty. By Sunday night, she knew something was wrong. When she couldn’t take the anxiety anymore, she called 911. Three phone transfers later, and a police officer was on the other line.

Everything changed when the constable uttered the words “I wanted to do this in person. Your son has died. “

For days and months after that day she existed in a state of pain. She was no longer the same person, but at first the changes were buried in the pain. Slowly as she learned to manage this new existence, she came to realize her fears were gone.

She tested the limits of her recovery. She drove across the Burlington Skyway Bridge. She had never done that before. After she crossed for the first time, she had to pull over to the side of the road. The grief came crashing in, crushing her. She broke down sobbing. Not because she was afraid but because she wasn’t. This “gift” was because she had lost her son. What a cruel trick. She stood on the edge of a 20-story building, marveling at the vista, not afraid to look down. An impossible feat for most of her life. This time, it was easier to accept the gift of the absence of fear. What else could she do?

And now, two years later. The big test. Flying alone for the first time ever.

She had flown before. With a lot of medicinal assistance. She only flew with others she knew on the plane. There was a time she wanted to go out east. To do it, she paid for her sister to fly with her. Another time, her husband, knowing she wanted to see their son dive, flew with her to Winnipeg. Only to turn around and fly home hours later, for meetings he could not miss.

This morning, everything was going so smoothly. Traffic was light and the drive was a breeze. She parked at the airport and sailed through customs. Arriving at the gate, she had plenty of time to spare. As the minutes ticked by, and the fear stayed away, anger crept in. Anger and pain and rage. She raged against this state, knowing that she was only okay because her son was gone. She became overwhelmed, unable to think or act.

A flight attendant noticed her and swiftly took her under his wing. He took her to the side of the waiting area, wrapped her in a blanket, and asked if there was anything he could do. She explained to the attendant, she wasn’t crying out of fear or anxiety, but of extreme grief. She gave him a small glimpse of what she was going through, explaining only that she had lost her son and this was the first time she would travel without him.

He stayed with her until boarding was called. He took her on the plane and placed her in first class and told her he would come back and check on her when he had a chance.

After the flight attendant left, she noticed she wasn’t alone. An older woman was in the other seat. When she turned towards her, a jolt of recognition went through her even though she was sure she had never met this person before. There was something in the shape of the woman’s face, and the colour of her eyes. She seemed ageless but the lines around her eyes spoke of many years of living.

The older woman leaned over and asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

After that, the words just tumbled out. She talked about losing her son, how they had travelled together and how this was her first time without him, her first time ever alone. She talked at length about how wonderful her son was, who he was, and what an honour it had been to be his mother.

The woman, with a sadness in her eyes that felt familiar, took it all in, holding her hand and listening intently, never interrupting. As the words took her from the memory of his death to reliving his life, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. She was ready to accept this “gift” from the tragedy.

After she told her story, the older woman began to speak. She told her she too had lost a son when she was younger. The older woman told her of learning to live with the grief. She let the younger woman know, it would get easier. Never better, but easier.

The older woman told her to accept the gift she was given, honour it by travelling and bringing her son with her in whatever way possible.

After takeoff, the flight attendant came back to check on her. It was at that moment that a tiny little butterfly flew up and away from them. She asked the flight attendant how a butterfly had gotten on the plane, and he got noticeably quiet. He told her that she might think he was crazy, but he thought the butterfly was there for her.

She did not think he was crazy. Butterflies were her sign. Her sign that her son was watching over her.

She and the older woman chatted for the flight. She realized after, that she had done most of the talking, the older woman letting her relive her life with her son.

When they landed, she got up and let the older woman out ahead of her so she could get her bag. As she moved towards the exit, the butterfly, having rested on the ceiling for the whole trip, immediately flew towards the door.

Suddenly, she felt a weird sensation. Like the room spinning, and everything shifting just for a split second. When she looked around the older woman was gone. She didn’t think she could have left that quickly, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had wanted to thank her for her support on this trip and opening her eyes to the possibility of so many more.

That first plane trip faded as the years passed, as travel became commonplace. Planes were no longer to be feared. They had become a gateway to other places, where she could both find her son, and escape the pain for a while.

The years flowed by, with grief a constant companion, but she used it to connect to her son. With her son in her heart, she saw the world. She revisited all the places they had been together. She travelled to unfamiliar places, accepting the gift she had been given.

Many years had now passed. It was getting harder to travel. She felt there were very few trips left. It would soon be time to stop.

It was early in the morning, and she was off on what might be her last adventure.

She liked to get on the plane first, so even though she didn’t have to she got there early, to ensure she was the first on the plane.

As she sat down, a butterfly came in through the door. She felt a tug in her stomach and reality shifted. Something was happening. The butterfly teasing the memory out of her of the plane trip so long ago.

And then she saw her. A young woman, guided by the flight attendant, crying and the pain coming off her in waves. It was her younger self. Somehow, someway the past and present had merged, bringing her back to that first plane trip. The memory of the trip as her younger self came flooding back. She was here for a reason. To help herself find the strength to heal.

The flight attendant settled her younger self in the seat beside her. Just like that day so many years ago, they turned to each other. She heard herself say “Is there anything I can do?”

And she listened as her younger self poured out her heart. As her younger self spoke, her son and their life, so far away these years, came clear now. She was transported back, the memories so clear. As she listened and gave comfort, she too was comforted by the younger woman’s telling of “their” life with “their” son.

As the flight attendant returned, the small butterfly flew away from her younger self. She realized, this butterfly - a messenger from her son- had moved her through time and space, for her to comfort and be comforted in that moment.

The rest of the trip passed, and they chatted as they had those years ago. She listened to stories of her son, drinking in every word. As the plane landed, she wondered what would happen. As last time, her younger self moved away so she could leave first.

The butterfly came down from the roof where it had rested. That shift in perception happened again, and she moved out through the door. She looked back, but of course her younger self was gone. She had returned to her own time.

She turned and continued down the walkway. Her son, for now, as clear in her mind as if the intervening years had disappeared.

She knew that the cycle would continue, her younger self now traveling the path she had taken.

For herself, a calm settled in. This would be the last trip. At least it would be the last trip in this world. She was ready to go “home”.