Leaving on a Jet Plane
By: Alison Acheson
Tags: Life Lessons, Inspiration, Courage, Aging, Covid 19

On December 23rd, my 85-year-old mother was on this plane. On board with her white hair, big purple coat, and her small suitcase, mindful of the other passengers, taking to heart the admonition to pack lightly. She’s a bit stooped at this point; life has bowled over and bowed her these past few years. But some years ago, she wouldn’t have been caught dead or alive on such a contraption as this.

Heights and what-am-I-doing-up-here

Once, going for a walk in a nearby park, after walking through a beautifully forested area, we hit upon a high bridge crossing a stream. There was a railing on only one side, and the bridge was narrow. I did not notice that she’d stopped following me until I got to the other side, and looked back.

She missed out on the walk with both her daughter and grandson because of her fear. We could see her, left behind on the other bank, her face terrified. There was no way she was going to cross. There was no way she was going to find herself in the middle of that bridge.

Claustrophobia and lemme-outta-here

My mother is claustrophobic. Not only does she “have a thing” — as they used to say, before the word “trauma” was used on a daily and hourly basis — about small spaces, but her claustrophobia is mostly about the reality of not having an “out.”

On an airplane, between taking off and landing, there is no “out.”

Another time, we were at my youngest son’s school Christmas concert. There were few seats when we arrived and we ended up in the middle of the room, chairs all lined up closely in the gym.

At some point, before the event was over, she began to hyperventilate, and all at once, she was standing, pulling at the buttons on her coat, and pushing chairs and people out of her way. Around us, people looked alarmed. And in the murky dark, overhead lights not on yet on, she plowed her way through the rows of chairs, toward the exit sign, glowing red.

Back in those days, she’d booked a 45-minute flight to visit my brother, and she canceled the flight last minute; she couldn’t stand the thought of being “trapped” in an airplane.

And that would have been a “normal” airplane. Not a small float-plane, with a staircase as narrow as that bridge over the stream! And the water at the airport, that was real water, the real deep-and-scary current of the Fraser River.

Courage

What has it taken, to get to this point?

Loss

Loss has been a big part of our lives: both my mother and I have lost our spouses to ALS. My husband, after less than a year of being ill, in 2016. And my father, two and a half years later, in December of 2018.

This has made for a very real sense of what is precious in life; what should be caught up, embraced, and appreciated. Sometimes “living life” means stepping out of the zone of the predictable and the everyday. It means having to do the unexpected. It means having to push!

New opportunity

In the last months of my father being ill, my parents’ beloved old campervan decided to call it in. That was a hard blow. My 5'4" mother has driven large vehicles for decades; she feels safe encircled in all that metal and roar. She’s always been an excellent driver. My brother races motorcycles, and his skill comes from her.

She side-stepped a speeding ticket once by showing the police officer her foot, and explaining it’s a size ten, and she can’t help the weight of the thing… He had a laugh and let her go. Little did he know…as she zoomed off again!

So losing that van seemed to be the end of a long era.

Then the same brother gifted her a Ford Expedition.

How can one not be grateful for such? Yet for weeks it sat, and she struggled to come to terms with all those buttons and gadgets that seemed so foreign (and unnecessary) to her.

A big part of the courage she now has comes from facing the realities of that dashboard: she was not going to be able to so much as pick up groceries if she did not come to terms with the new vehicle. No one was going to re-create her old one for her, no one could.

One day, she went out by herself and just drove it. That was a breakthrough. But there was another day when she had to call a neighbor to figure out some basic locking and unlocking. That was embarrassing. But the breakthroughs and the embarrassing moments…they all have to be gotten through.

COVID times

And then along comes this. My mother is an extrovert. She grew up with half a dozen siblings. She needs people in her life.

Her rambly house and equally so yard have proved to be a giant blessing. She has room to move, talks with neighbors over the fence, and visits with friends, distanced and out of doors.

But still, this time has required so much of her. She’s learned to spend hours alone. Learned to be creative with creating spaces. Learned to accept when some friends completely isolate. Learned to accept masks and being less able to read faces and happiness. Learned to resist hugging. So very hard.

But maybe this time has had a real role in “growing courage.”

And so

I saw her off on her adventure, sanctioned by our provincial health officer, Dr. Bonnie Henry, who officially okayed widowed individuals visiting family for the holidays. The pilot himself gave her his arm, and they somehow navigated going up those narrow steps.

The float-plane world is not like the “real” airport. Harbour Air allowed me to be right at the gate with her, and if needed, I could have taken her down to the plane. There were only nine passengers, all masked and distanced, for the twenty-minute flight.

Three days later, Boxing Day, I go to pick her up. And if she doesn’t come down those steps on her own trusty pegs…

I think about all the other steps she has taken — those she has recognized as such and those that have been thrust upon her. I’m taking notes, always. I’m just a few steps behind. Every generation builds on the foundations.

Happy New Year, Momma!

photo: Mom disembarking — by author

Alison Acheson has published 11 books, from picture books to a memoir of caregiving, Dance Me to the End: Ten Months and Ten Days With ALS. She is currently working on a novel about gleaning the good in life. Look for her article in the February edition of The Writer magazine.

https://alisonacheson.medium.com/