The world is playing a huge game of Where’s Waldo trying to find Malaysia Airlines flight 370 (MH370). That’s pretty hard when the search area expands to the size of Montana. Families are frustrated. Everyone wants to fill in the blanks. And, much of the filling comes from incomplete answers and goofy theories while the public’s idea is that flying airplanes is analogous to driving to the local Safeway.
If you have questions or want to join the discussion, leave a comment and I’ll get back to you.
People often say that when children get older they become the parents of their parents. Sometimes it’s the slow, inexorable march of age. Sometimes it’s illness or a traumatic event.
I became my mother’s parent very young. She was mentally ill and it fell to me to care for her (and sometimes my mentally ill grandmother and sister’s daughter). It left many scars, and I’d not wish the experience on anyone, but there was some goodness in it. At only six or seven I didn’t even understand that it. She died young and it wasn’t until then that I really understood our relationship.
My father was an air traffic controller. He weathered the strange shifts and pressures of his job and an uncontrollable life. He was quick-tempered and aggressively decisive, but also a kind man. Although I had to shoulder an unfair and huge burden I always knew he loved me and that given the ability he would’ve made my life entirely different.