Horrible, Horrible, Horrible

Authors note to D. and to PW: I strongly advise against reading today's post. It's a downer anyway. -- Cocktail Maven


Something awful happened today.

172 people boarded a plane in Spain bound for the Canary Islands. Moments after takeoff, only 19 were left alive. There is no end of bad news in the world. You don't even have to look for it for it to plop in your lap on a daily basis. Wars. Atrocities. Extinction. Ignorance. Much of it washes over me. You learn to filter these things out just to survive, but for some reason, my mind keeps wandering back to this tragedy.

I know the families of the dead will suffer the loss of loved ones for a long time, for the rest of their lives, probably. I know the suddenness of their loss must only increase their anguish. I know this, I know what it is to lose someone. I know, and in no way do I intend to diminish their pain when I say that it is the plight of the surviving 19 that touches me most. It is the surviving that horrifies me.

We have all heard that statistically, we are much, much safer and less likely to come to harm travelling by plane than when travelling by car. However, despite the instructions provided by the air host/hostess, and in spite of flotation devices and oxygen masks, deep down we all know that were something to go awry, likelihood of survival is - let's face it - negligible.

But what if you did survive a plane crash? What if YOU, out of 172 people, were one of the blessed few who walked away? What do you do with that? How do you reconcile the memory of the man across the aisle who hoisted your bag for you with the memory of watching him die mere moments later, completely powerless to help? How do you compartmentalize something like that and move on with your life? How do you even decide what to do with the rest of it?

I hope I never have to find out.