Archive for October 19th, 2006

19 Oct 2006 Dear David: Month 10
Author: Gail |  Category: Flying, Letters to David, Videoclips  | One Comment

Table of contents for Letters to David

  1. Dear David: Christmas Day
  2. Dear David: Your Memorial
  3. Dear David: Mister Hugh
  4. Dear David: Thanks for Helma
  5. Dear David: The Magnolia Tree
  6. Dear David: Month One
  7. Dear David: The Basement
  8. Dear David: When?
  9. Dear David: Month Two
  10. Dear David: Mister Hugh in the City
  11. Dear David: Month Three
  12. Dear David: Month Four
  13. Dear David: Month Five
  14. Dear David: Month Six
  15. Dear David: Month Seven
  16. Dear David: A Poem
  17. Dear David: Month Eight
  18. Dear David: Month Nine
  19. Dear David: Month 10
  20. Dear David: Month 11
  21. Dear David: Month 12

Dear David,

I made it past Month 10 without completely falling apart, which is a real miracle considering the bumpy ride it’s been. I’ll be lucky if I have any friends at all by next year, what with being uncommunicative and a miserable recluse. Not all the time, but living in Toronto seems to have that effect on me.

I went to Pennsylvania and New York as much as I could the past month, and stayed at Helma’s. Not just for her cooking — stick-to-your-ribs German homestyle! — but for her company. She took me fishing at Lackawanna State Park, and I took her to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome. Those were the happiest days since I wrote you last; I was at peace.

I also came to the full realisation in the past month that the restlessness I’d been feeling was from not flying for so many months. I scattered your ashes in the sky over Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome because it was your Happy Place, where you felt free and unfettered from the troubles on the ground. It has become my Happy Place, too. What cemented our relationship from the beginning was more than sharing the visceral excitement of flying; we spent months getting to know each other’s history before our first flight together in the Tri-Pacer, so by then there was a tacit understanding of the symbolic nature of flight.

Aside from scattering your ashes on May 30 in a Piper Cub and the Aerodrome biplane rides on the 7th, I hadn’t been in anything smaller than a regional jet since our last flight together on November 19. It wasn’t until I was at Cherry Ridge Airport again that I knew I had to go back up in the sky, and luckily I was able to find someone who went out of his way to help me.

Mike didn’t like his first landing, so we took off again! Fine by me!

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