GRIEF AND WHO'S WHO IN THE FAMILY

by Susan Gail Bennett

Four days before Christmas '88 found me baking cookies at the school.  I had only two hours to hustle my 12 year old son, Jim, through his paper route and drive to church 1/2 hour away.  From there I would deposit three different boys at three different locations at three different times and then go back and pick them all up while grabbing hamburgers somewhere in the middle.  My body was racing to keep up with my mind which was racing to stay on top of a schedule which was not falling into place.  Nonetheless the flurry was one of cheer.

I drove 12 year old Jim to the paper drop only to find his papers were not there.  Fortunately, my friend, Carol, lived two doors away where I used the phone.  Waiting for the papers to arrive gave Carol and me a chance to chat.  Casually she mentioned, "We've just been watching this news flash about a plane that crashed over Scotland.  It was supposed to land in Detroit at midnight."  The fear that every wife dreads must have been written all over my face.  I froze with fear.  Hesitantly, she asked, "You weren't expecting anyone in tonight, were you?"  Time stood still.  I could barely whisper, "Larry is due to arrive just after midnight."

The steering wheel steadied my shaking hands.  The boys could not see the terror churning inside me.  Not now anyway.  The holiday schedule that had so preoccupied my mind evaporated.  My mind that minutes ago raced to keep on top of a timetable now raced with life and death. "Keep calm.  Get some information first.  Go home and call the office.  Find his travel voucher.  Carol said it was flight 103."  But, the logical questions in my mind were pursued by others.  My heart raced to know, "Is he dead?  Maybe he survived.  Is he in pain?  I don't want him to die.  How badly is he hurt?  I don't want to be alone.  Larry, what's happening to you?  Where are you?  Talk to me....."

When we arrived home, everything was the same.  The house was a torrent of cookie sheets and wrapping paper.  Our family Christmas letter stood in the typewriter on the kitchen table waiting for its final salutations.  Two sentences jumped off the page.  "Larry is in Germany: I expect him home very late tonight."  "Davy is seven years old and in the second grade."  Everything was not the same.

Pushing through the frenzy of my mind and the chaos of the house and the clutter of my kitchen desk I retrieved the travel voucher.  For a split second the Cinderella in me desperately wished for the fairy tale ending.  I wanted to put the voucher on the bottom of the stack and say, "Prince Charming is coming home and we are all going to live happily ever after."  So much hope, so much fear in that one piece of paper.

21 DEC 88 - WEDNESDAY
PAN AMERICAN  103      BUSINESS CL
LV:  FRANKFURT        450P      TWO STOPS      CONFIRMED
AR:  DETROIT/METRO  1218A  ARRIVAL DATE-22 DEC

I wanted to be alone.  I wanted to sort out my thoughts.  My heart was frantically trying to connect with the one I feared was dying or dead.  The phone calls then started.  My sister-in-law, Sandy, said, " Grandma is watching the news and is worried about Larry."  All I could answer was, "I think Larry was on that flight."  Pan Am 103 had just become a household word.

Too much was happening at once.  "Lord!  How do I tell the children?"