Dash 8

A few days ago I turned on the news as I ate my breakfast, and the first thing I heard was that a Dash 8 had gone down in New York and everyone on board was killed.  Then, “More on this terrible accident, after these messages.”

My stomach instantly revolted against the cereal flakes I was swallowing.  “Did she just say a Dash 8?” I thought. I knew she had. The plane I had never heard of until two years ago was now on the news. And everyone on board was killed.  Too impatient to wait through the commercials about vitamins and ads for the Wall Street Journal, I immediately went online and looked up the story at msnbc.com.

I couldn’t find what I was looking for, but logic started working… “OK, I thought, I’m two hours behind them. I would’ve gotten a phone call by now. Right? I would’ve gotten a phone call by now.” I heard the news come back on, so I moved back into the living room.   I stood there, holding my uneaten cereal, and listened to the blonde news anchor describing the events that had taken place in Buffalo earlier that morning.  And then I saw it; the headline written below the video footage said the word I’d been looking for: “Continental Flight Crashed Into Home.”  Continental. Continental. Continental.  I heard her talk about the 50 people who had been killed, the two pilots and three attendants, and I let out the sob I had been controlling for the last 4 minutes. Contintental.

It wasn’t US Airways.  It wasn’t my brother. It was 50 other poor souls, but it wasn’t Andrew.  It took all of 4 minutes for my heart to stop, my stomach to turn, my hands to start shaking, and my eyes to cry a few tears of relief as I reassured myself that it wasn’t my brother.  Boy, what a way to wake up.