by Timothy C. Shirley
It was something he had always dreamed of. As a young child he would lay in bed somehow manipulating the sheets to leave him suspended over the floor. Later in life he wanted to do the pole vault, still later he joined the diving team. Sometime in the 80s he signed up for ground school and at last it looked like his dreams would come true. It wasn't time.
As he prepared for college he decided that he wanted to study aeronautical engineering or electrical engineering. Half way through college another postponement. He joined the Army and once again experienced the joy of being high above the ground suspended by strings and webbing. After leaving the Army and finishing school he had a family and felt he could only dream.
So he dreamed: innovating everywhere he went, changing policies, inventing products, living life above the average. Yet the hushed dream never left - he could not drown it out with work, family, or anything else. But something had changed. He was tired - really tired. He wasn't able to concentrate like he once did. A frightening night, where his head pounded, and he was taken to the emergency room. Visits to a neurologist. What was happening? It was several months later he first discovered that he was suffering from Diabetes after years of decline. In the few months before diagnosis he had lost 25 pounds and had grown weak. He didn't want anyone to know so he hid it well.
The thing about sickness and confusion is that it tends to cause a person to re-evaluate their goals and to really think about their dreams. The dream was clearer than ever. He needed to fly.
Driving by the fairgrounds he could no longer resist. The car just seemed to turn toward the airport. Fear of the unknown cast aside. A couple of days later Aron called and the 20 year journey slowly stirred from its slumber. Fueled on by a supporting wife, he began to live again. He was living for freedom; living to cast aside the encumbrances and view the world from a higher place.
But what about the diabetes, the headache, the depression that had taken their toll in the years leading to the diagnosis. Would the FAA allow him to reach the dream or would he again be stifled as the desire slipped through his outstretched heart? He plodded on, occasionally discouraged, occasionally troubled by what might not be. In the process he met wonderful people. The people he met understood the dream, they were pilots and seemed to share an unwritten bond. They would encourage, and respect, they would silently cheer for each other. The bond needed no words to express, nor would it be fettered by the inadequacies of speech.
Just a short while ago, I finally received my special issuance. Nearly forty hours of flight time and I could finally solo - an event that cannot even be compared to finishing the driver's test and being awarded a license to drive. I could now solo! Well… perhaps. There was still the small matter of making a trio of good landings so Aron could let me go.
So we set out to do that. But the plane was in the shop. Aron was gone for the weekend (I went out on a cross-country with Eric and my older son, David, to placate my desire). Monday we went out in the evening, but the winds didn't allow it. Tuesday, a repeat of Monday. Wednesday another activity would take up my time so we scheduled for early Thursday when the winds might be calm.
Thursday morning while the rest of the world was sleeping I arrived at First Air. I was alone, it was quiet and I had no difficulty shaking off the tiredness from my short slumber. Accustomed to controlling my grief, pain, sorrow, elation, and gladness, which I had practiced over years of postponement, I set to the task. With the preflight started, I heard the familiar sound of Aron's manly-man truck. He hurriedly moseyed my way trying not to over broadcast his expectations that this would be the day. There stood a young man distinguished from his peers by professionalism, acute ability, and unfazed poise. He suffered with me, and it was fitting that he realize the privilege of granting my solo.
The sky was clear and some thin fog rested just beyond the airfield. Taxi across. Run-up. Rolling for takeoff we buzzed into the air. The scenery especially beautiful from our 1500 ft perch this day. I had prayed once again this morning. Today, God drew mystical patterns using fog on the lakes below. It appeared like soft scales of some pleasant creature waiting to announce its return to life. So too my heart stirred as I realized this day would reawaken a lost portion of my inmost self.
Three landings later we taxied to a stop. Without any formal ceremony or trite rejoicing, Aron's endorsement scrawled its way onto my documents. A word of advice and I taxied away, my ever-present companion now conspicuously absent. I was pleased that the endorsement process remained short; no time for the weight of the event to makes itself recognizable. A run-up, a takeoff, around the pattern, my senses perhaps keener than ever, the aircraft seemed to beg me to succeed. Landing, the tires quietly chirped, flaps up, carb heat off and again to the sky. It seemed almost too easy. The third time around the plane floated above the runway extending my time to savor the experience. Although not as stellar as the other two landing, pleasure filled my being.
After refueling, we returned to Monroe. The rest of the day I restrained myself, occasionally mentioning that, "I soloed for the first time today" to others.
This evening the tears come. Why these tears now? Could it be thirty years of looking pensively toward the skies? Perhaps it is the twenty years of disappointment and self-denial finally subdued? It is freedom! I am returning to life… (stay tuned)
THOT:
If you find life unbearable, find out when you stopped dreaming and start over.
TCS (July 22, 2004)