I lost my father a year ago today. It was unexpected and I did not get to ask him for advice or any sort of guide to life without him. I have asked the air a thousand times to tell me what the fuck I am supposed to do now. In the days immediately following his death I went looking for an answer in his phone, and the closest thing I found was an open tab for a flight school — something he had definitely looked up for me. He and I talked about it all the time.
It took me 8 months and far too much money, but I got my Private Pilot’s License on Thursday. Today I flew with my very first passenger (my mom).
This process was hard because it’s hard and harder still because it gave me a thousand nuanced new reasons to miss him. But it was also a gift. It has been a way to remember him and even, in a small way, to move forward with him. It’s not enough — nothing ever will be — but it’s a gift all the same.
After I got my license on Thursday, I was excited for a bit. I took pictures and texted my family and celebrated — up until I got in my car and burst into tears. I cried partly because all I wanted was to call my dad and tell him what I had done. I was also crying because for the better part of the last year my grief had a project and now the project is done but my grief is not.
Flying with my mom today was a reminder that it wasn’t just a project; I can now go visit him in the sky whenever I want. I will miss him forever and I will also be forever thankful for this final gift from the world’s best dad.
Wish you were here. Always.
