The Canadian built prop plane so cute with its wings off the top of the fuselage and blades of steel twirling and whirling. Always twirling and whirling when on.
"If you want to pronounce it that way", I exclaimed to the gate agent who pronounced my family name so correctly. But filling her with doubt. I'm cheaky and friendly.
Walk thru the jet way to stairs that took me down to the tarmac. Tarmac. Ascended the stairs to the plane like some noir star fleeing the life of Moroccan nights fueled with hashish, couscous and leprosy.
The plane so tiny. Elbow to elbow with some Honolulu bound stress agent. " I had to borrow my sister's coat. This Spring weather is inconsistent."
Its spring. The time when there is a little bit of winter and a little bit of summer mix in a stew.
She goes on to to inform the cabin that the airline books the tightest of tight connection times... "Especially at an airport like Newark" she added looking for a brotherhood of misguided and maligned air travelers. "Sister," I thought to myself, "shut up.... Your shit is trivial, you fly to paradise."
I'm headed to the mountain state of Colorado for my uncle's funeral.
This man blasted satellites up to orbits unseen to do duties unknown to but a few.
"What did you do at work today, Dad?" My cousin once asked him. "I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you." Was his reply, joking of course... But not really.
This is the distance on this side of the family. Jets and props always needed in order to make the connections not found in telephone calls.
In my life there were only a handful of times where we made these connections.
But our connection was strong.
We shared a family's pain that was passed from mother to son, generations down the line. Somewhere a gene was mutated by countless mixings and connections between foreign families. We came out on the other side with bad kidneys, we Men of this family line all have some mutation that will eventually have our kidneys fail.
Me and uncle both spent our time on dialysis and eventually got the gift of life in the form of a transplant.
He gave me Hope. Close to 30 years with an organ guaranteed only to last 5.
"Stay away from Gatorade" advice given to me early teen me during a visit in my teens.
"Do what your doctors say" advice give shortly after being diagnosed. With End Stage Renal failure.
"I enjoy a scotch everyone once in a while"advice given after I had a successful transplant.
His words well chose, always. Always provide Hope.
In the end, it was his heart that failed. The kidney kept doing what it needed.
This flight and connecting flight will bring my heavy heart to family for needed healing.