Tonight as I dined on salad with roast chicken with my son in law Francisco, he told me about a terrible moment on Saturday night as he flew from Miami to Hartford on a Southwest Airlines flight.
“I’ve never said that to myself before,” he said excitedly. “I actually thought I was going to die.” At the start of the flight, he heard one flight attendant warn another about turbulence coming up in thirty minutes or so. Then the attendant who was handing out drinks began hurrying up, nervously trying to make it down the aisle after the whispered warning.
This was the same night that tornadoes struck downtown Atlanta, and they would be flying in nearby airspace. Then just about 3o minutes after they had taken off–whooosh!
The plane suddenly dropped, and all around him people screamed. He clutched the sides of the seat, watching his feet tapping nervously. The plane had dropped so suddenly, it was as if it had been dropped like a rock. “Oh my god,” they cried, everybody screamed at the same time, terrified, and for five seconds it felt like nobody took a breath. Francisco leaned over and asked the man next to him what time it was. Nine-thirty. More than an hour of flying left.
No announcement ever came from up front explaining the terrifying drop that had made the whole plane feel like they might die together in a plane crash.
I asked him what he thought about during that terrifying moment, that time that stood still, thinking that he might be headed down, down, 30,000 feet. “I kept thinking that I wanted to tell Kate, and I couldn’t, that I couldn’t tell them that I was going to die, it was my last chance to talk to them…but there was no way to say it.”
When the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac at Bradley, a hearty cheer rose up from the relieved crowd. I too am glad that I’m hearing this story from the man himself, alive and well.
Related posts:
