Yesterday, in Seattle, a television news helicopter crashed moments after take off. By all accounts, it collapsed out of the sky and exploded almost instantly upon hitting the ground. But it didn’t just hit the ground; it hit at least one car, which burst into flames. Miraculously, the driver escaped his car and was rushed to the emergency room with burns covering more than 50% of his body. As of this afternoon he is, unbelievably, still alive.
Last week, as we all know, a plane full of people vanished in thin air. Two hundred thirty-nine people showed up at the airport, some on time, some running late, some traveling for business, some for pleasure. They stood in lines, they showed their passports, they wished there were better food in the airport, they hung up their phones when the cabin door was closed. And then, they disappeared.
I can’t quite stop thinking about these people, these 240 people, who woke up and ate breakfasts that weren’t really what they wanted and hurried to get washed and dressed and then stepped out the door and then it all just stopped. For them, for their families and friends, everything will be different forever.
I suppose there is a lesson to be had here about treasuring your moments and living life to the fullest and kissing your children goodbye in the morning. But I don’t want to give that terrible, tragic, flawed luck that much honor. I want, instead, to screw up my face into a scowl and rail against the bitch that life can be.