A Mom Story

My mother was only 49 years old when my father died. She threw herself into teaching for 15 years. Then, Mom discovered ballroom dancing which, then, led her to the world of dating. Funny how life just continues to progress.

One particular gentleman, Dick, was a small aircraft pilot. Since I am a lady, I shall refer to him as the “pilot.” He talked her into flying down to Mexico with him for the weekend. She was not comfortable in Commercial planes, let alone a single-engine puddle jumper. After assuring her he had flown this flight path many times and that it was completely safe, they lifted off in the early afternoon. The weather was perfect. The flight was easy. Then the propeller stopped.

All Mom could hear was the loud swoosh of air screaming against the dead lump of aircraft metal that encased two live bodies. The pilot tried repeatedly to restart the engine but to no avail. Close enough to see the Mexican border off in the distance, he spotted a clearing in the desert and decided to land there. The “landing” area was in at least a foot of sand. As the wheels touched down, in sand, they dug in and halted. Mom hit her head as the whole plane somersaulted. They hung upside down from their seatbelts like two piñatas. But, unlike papier mâché, they were alive.

Mom’s head wound was bleeding down into her scalp and into her hair, creating a wet and red mohawk. She could see well enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and help the pilot with his. When they were safely upright, the pilot found that his right ankle had been crushed. They could see the highway up the steep incline about one mile away. They both decided that Mom would have to walk to the road and flag for help. Since the sun was setting she took the flashlight with her. She made it to the road just at dark.

Mom began waving at several passing cars, but they all sped up when they saw her. Summoning her best, post airplane crash logic, Mom surmised that people did not know she was hurt. So, she began to aim the flashlight at her face, unaware that her forehead was now bleeding down her cheeks. When drivers saw Freddie Krueger trying to flag them down, they sped up even faster.

Finally, a highway patrol car rolled up to her and stopped. Standing in the glow of headlights, flashlight to her face, Mom patiently waited for the patrolman to slowly exit his vehicle. Then Mom waved out toward the plane and said, “We have been in a plane crash.” Mom fell forward onto the hood of the patrol car.

The next thing she knew Mom awoke in the hospital. Unable to walk, she was now paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors found that she had an unusual hip compression fracture and had to tell her she might never walk again. Six months later, Mom was out dancing.

Having not heard from the pilot, Mom and I visited Dick once. He was still in foot traction. One woman was there ministering to his needs. He was on the phone to another woman who would soon be bringing over a casserole.

Mom never again dated that pilot. She lived happily ever after, and so did I.