Full Circle
The best mornings were early, before the patrons started trickling in, on beautiful Washington summer days when I could open the hangar door to welcome in the warm rays, the smell of AV gas and jet fuel lingering in the breeze, and feeling the extraordinary presence of the hangar's inhabitants--these flying machines-- that had lived the high life during the golden age of aviation; the time of dog fights, real stick and rudder flying, and coveted airplanes. It was humbling to be in the silence of the morning with these majestic machines and just feel as though the hangar was jammed full of stories, people loved, people lost, and heroes made. I do believe that aircraft have their own unique personalities. These retired fighters now lined up in this geriatric ward, dripping their life blood onto the drip pans lined with diapers, were no exception. I was in love with this place; it is when I felt most alive! Flying was in my blood even if I was in denial.
Aviation slowly began to creep back into my life after leaving the Air Force. I worked a short stint as the administrator of the Olympic Flight Museum, in Washington State. It was a very awesome job to be an employee of a flying museum! They also pulled together a fantastic yearly air show, the Olympic Air Show, which got me hooked on organizing and executing aviation events. I had a blast learning all the ins and outs of putting together a large public event; especially watching the enthusiasm of the patrons, young and old, as they entered through the gates transforming them into the kid at heart.
But I still had a sour taste in my mouth that just would not go away. I left the job to pursue a different path, but I mostly left because I couldn't take being near the airplanes and not flying. It was very much a "Jekyll and Hyde" feeling of loving it but hating it at the same time. Not much long after, I found myself back in Mississippi. Back where it all started...where my dreams had been shattered.
I HATED IT. I hated driving onto base. I hated the smell of jet fuel. I hated driving past the flying squadrons. It took a while before I was willing to walk down the hall to my old squadron. I hated every single student, most of them unaware of how lucky they were. I hated myself. Everywhere I turned, there was a reminder of what had been.
Then the anvil dropped, I received an invitation to participate in a spouse taxi to include a tour of the RSU. (Remember the mini tower from my previous post? Where the instructor received a life changing phone call about me? Yep... that place...) I was livid!! Why the hell should I participate in this s@#$? A tour of the RSU? ha! NO WAY. A spouse taxi in the T-6? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???
My attitude was horrible, but I was hurting more than I even realized. I eventually came to recognize, that even though I feared facing my past, I had to go through with it. I needed to heal, to move on. I had been dragging this bag for too damn long. So I signed up for the spouses' appreciation day.
The morning of the appreciation day, I stared at my flight suit. It still had the second lieutenant bars on it with many memories stained into the fabric. I reluctantly pulled it on over my t-shirt and shorts. It had been six years since I had last zipped up this flight suit.
I put my car in park with a huge sigh. "Here goes nothing," I thought.
Guess what was first? A tour of my old buddy, the RSU. I think my heart was thudding just as hard on the drive over as it had on my drive back to the squadron from the RSU over six years ago!
As I plodded up the tower stairs, each metal step clanked, like a ghost in shackles haunting the halls of the jail in which it died, but this time I was the ghost. I made it as far as the outdoor balcony. Man, did it hurt! I couldn't go in, but at least I was back. I was literally facing my past; every bittersweet moment of it.
As we drove away, a small amount of relief seeped through my body. It was nice to feel just a little bit of pain melt away.
The high speed spouse taxi...Talk about memory lane, we entered life support which hadn't changed much, just enough to accommodate the equipment for the Tweet replacement, the T-6. I got fitted for a helmet and they handed me a harness. (The parachute is already in the aircraft unlike the Tweet.) They were ready to assist me with fitting it, but my hands didn't forget. I beat them to it.
As my husband and I started to head out to the crew bus, we happened to pass his squadron commander in the hall. "Have fun. And don't even think about it," he said, as he passed by. I laughed. It's not like my husband and I were scheming about what kind of emergency would require taking off and maybe an overhead. Okay, maybe he knew us too well. Unfortunately, we couldn't think of any good excuses. Although, I had thought about playing "the innocent" wife who didn't know what the throttle was an accidently shove it forward and just so happen to pull back on the stick at the right time... But the commander knew my story.
I had survived the day. I was beginningt to feel a little more optimistic about my life.
Earlier in the year, Nana, a 1965 S-35 Beechcraft "Bonanza", seemed to find us. She was for sale and not officially on the market, but our mechanic called and said, "You need to call this guy right now." Other people were offering the seller way more than we could afford, but the seller had made up his mind to sell it to us. I didn't do much flying, just mostly riding along as the co-pilot and observing my husband fly. I missed flying and here was an opportunity to start flying again, but I refused. The human mind is just too complex!!
In 2012, it all changed. With encouragement from my husband, okay, a hard kick in the ass from him, I dedicated seven months to train and earn my single engine instrument rating and then my private multi engine, multi engine instrument add-on, and commercial multi engine ratings in Maryland. During this time I had been back and forth between Maryland and Mississippi a couple of times. Spending at least a week in Mississippi to assist in the annual inspection of Nana. The owner of the maintenance shop also happened to be the pilot for a privately owned Cessna Citation.
Life can be funny, or it at least thinks it is funny. In the same place, where my dreams had been ripped from my trembling fingertips, my life was about to come full circle, and those hands were no longer going to be empty.
Well before I finished my multi ratings, during a lunch break from working on Nana, the mechanic told me once I was multi commercial rated I could fly with him as a contract copilot. (When the main copilot was unable to fly in the Citation.) I was shocked and pretty excited. I missed the multi world.
That fall, I went on my first trip in the Citation. It was an out and back to Texas. As I drove to the airport, I really had no idea of what to expect. I had only been up once before in the Citation during a troubleshooting flight for the navigation system and autopilot. I opened the door to the hangar, there it was all shiny and welcoming. The pilot had already completed the preflight and we had just a few more items to take care of before leaving.
The client arrived with assistants, who were as giddy as kids in a candy store over the sight of the jet. Right away they started showering me with questions about this airplane part and that. I smiled, a feeling of peace flowed over me, this was where I belonged.
I hopped into the copilot seat. Now for the real test,could I talk on the radio like the big boys and girls? Ha ha! The first time I had to say "flight level" and try to sound like I knew what I was doing, I blew it. But in the end, I didn't care. This was awesome! By the time we reached Texas, it felt natural. We landed without a hitch. It was also my first time flying through and landing at a Class B airport as a pilot. We dropped off our client, refueled, and headed home.
Back in Mississippi, I was getting ready to head to my car to go home. The client's friend, who had also gone along and who happened to be my friend, stopped me and tried to hand me money. I was speechless. I refused to take his money. I couldn't take it from a friend. I had agreed to fly even if I wasn't always paid for it. He looked me in the eyes and asked, "Are you a multi commercial pilot?" "Yes," I stuttered. He then shoved the money into my hands. I was overwhelmed. My life had truly come full circle. Seven years before, I was on this same soil being paid to fly and to become a professional pilot, it was taken away, and now I was back and being paid as a professional pilot. I sobbed the whole way home. I seriously believe my friend knew my pain. He was the one who took me flying in his Cub for my first tailwheel lesson. He talked a friend into taking me and my husband up in his Cessna 195 because he saw me drooling over it. And now, he had the privilege of showing me that I had made it; I was a professional pilot and my story was just beginning.
Everyone has a unique story. We each have a heart meant to beat to our own music, our own journey, with our dreams saturating our blood guiding our heart.
What we can share is the ability to encourage and inspire others with our own lives. I hope that you, the reader, will know a door closed is not the end. Sometimes we have to walk the very dark and lonely path of grief before we ever notice the small sliver of light shining through the crack of the real door. The door you were supposed to find all along. The one for which your heart carries the key to unlock.
So go live your life! Fly your adventure!
