Good stories are worth retelling, especially when they contain a lesson I’ve never forgotten. So, I’m ending this series on regrets by revisiting a column I wrote close to a decade ago.
Some years back, I was going on an adventure, flying alone from Bismarck to Denver, Colo., to meet with my cousin.
I was excited as I boarded the 20-seat plane. Being the wife of a small-plane pilot, I knew the plane hadn’t been on the ground long enough to refuel, but I also knew flying with a lighter fuel load is more efficient and economical. I pulled out a magazine and settled in for the nearly two-hour flight. The sun had set and the cabin was quiet and comfortable.
Later, I glanced at my watch. Our arrival should be in about 30 minutes. I looked out the window to see the lights of Denver. Pitch dark. Oops! There was a bump in the air. My heart took a tiny leap, but I reassured myself. There was another bump. And another. I looked around. No one seemed alarmed, so I decided not to be either.
Then the pilot spoke. He told us there was a thunderstorm over Denver and the control tower had put us in a holding pattern. I assured myself the people in the control tower knew what they were doing.
Then the plane jumped again and again. The plane began to bob violently and I could feel my backside lift off the seat. My palms were sweaty and my heart was thumping. This was serious turbulence. An hour passed. Then more time passed. The turbulence did not subside one iota. I knew we had to be running low on fuel.
Then the thought came to me: This might be the way I die. I started praying more specifically.
I began with my two daughters. Lord, thank you for the heart-close relationship we have. I’d really like to live to see my girls get married and meet any grandchildren I might have, but if I don’t, keep them safe and well. Hold them close all their lives. Let my grandchildren have good friends and be good friends. Help them find their passions early in life and let them grow up to know you.
My husband was next. Thank you for the years we’ve had together. I was hoping for more, but if not, I want to thank you for bringing us together and the wonderful life we’ve had. Watch over him. Let him be happy.
Next, I thanked the Lord for my mom and the close relationship we had. My sisters were next. I always hoped someday we would all be retired and able to spend more time together, but if it was not to be, I prayed they would be content with their lives and remember with joy the laughs we had when we were together.
There were no announcements from the pilot. I didn’t care. I just wanted him to keep our plane in the air. Now, I could sense we were in a tight spiral heading down. This was surely the end. I prayed like never before, ready to see Jesus.
And then, as welcome as a voice from above, the pilot spoke calmly.
“Folks, we’re running a bit low on fuel. We’ve diverted to Colorado Springs and will be landing shortly.” Sure enough, just outside my window were the city lights.
I was relieved, but I also knew we weren’t in Denver and would have to fly back. I blurted to the whole plane, “Does anyone want to rent a car?” The pilot came out and apologized for the turbulence. He said we would head back to Denver as soon as we refueled.
When I saw my cousin I said, “I don’t know if I should kiss you or the ground.”
That night, I thought about my fervent prayers. I realized I had told the Lord, “Thank you for my life. Everyone who needs to know I love them already does. And for that, I thank you.”
As I was revisiting this column, I happened to be returning from a bucket-list trip to Morocco on a plane out of Paris. Twenty minutes into the flight, all the movie screens went black. A few minutes later, the pilot announced (first in French, then English), “Two of our four electrical generators have failed. We will be turning around, dumping fuel and landing back in Paris. Please read your safety instruction cards. You may notice fire-safety equipment waiting for us. This is for training.”
“Yeah, right,” I thought in English.
I started praying again. However, I quickly realized I was good. With God. With everyone important in my life. I had learned the lesson and lived it. No regrets.
I had no regrets. No amends or apologies left unsaid. My life was good and, in its own way, complete. It appeared, thankfully, I was given the gift of more days ahead, and for that I was glad. But I was also supremely happy to know if my life had ended earlier that night, I was ready.
Since then, my goal has been to always let the people in my life know what they mean to me. To live a life I can leave at any time with no regrets. What about you?
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Roxanne (Roxy) Henke wants all her readers to know how much she appreciates every one of you. She hopes you’ve found food for thought in this series. You can contact her at roxannehenke@gmail.com.
