Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (25 page)

ear-death experiences fascinate me and are one of my favorite topics of conversation. I am so intrigued by people who say they have actually died and come back to tell about it. I have talked to several people who have given me their first-hand account.

A flight attendant shared with me his story of being operated on in the hospital. He said he disengaged from his physical body and was able to witness the operation. He explained he was on the third floor, but could still somehow see his body. He could also hear the conversation of the nurses on that floor. When he regained consciousness after the operation, he saw one of the nurses. “So, how is your son doing?” he asked. “And did you get all of your laundry done last night?” The nurse was absolutely floored as there was no way he could have known about her son or their conversation.

Another passenger told me her near-death experience. She was having a baby. During the delivery, a complication occurred and the doctor lost her for a while. When she died, she saw a closed door with brilliant, beams of light coming from the inside. She was afraid to open the door. As she got closer and almost opened it, she came back to her body.

I was telling a flight attendant how much I feared drowning or being burned alive. She said she actually drowned before and it wasn’t that bad. She had been drinking with her boyfriend and his friend. Their happy hour turned unhappy. Her boyfriend picked her up and said in a fun way, “I’m going to throw you in.” He indeed did. She knew how to swim, but she was tipsy. As she sank to the bottom, she couldn’t figure out which direction was up. She took one gulp of water and that was it. I always pictured drowning victims as frantically gasping for air, but she said she didn’t. All she felt was an incredible feeling of peace. Her boyfriend and friend were able to bring her back to life.

A young mother named Judy was telling me her daughter’s story. Her two children were having fun playing in the pool, while she, her husband, and brother were getting some sun. Her son was 3 years old and her daughter was 5 years old. The little boy was saying, “Look at me, look at me.” As they were
giving their son complete attention, they realized their daughter was nowhere to be found. Judy knew something was wrong. She jumped up and looked at the bottom of the pool. Nothing. She ran in the house, but still couldn’t find her. Again, she returned to the pool and noticed a floating raft.

After lifting it up, she found her daughter lying face down not breathing. She yelled at her husband and brother to call 911. They froze for a second. After snapping out of shock, the brother ran next door to their neighbor’s house. Her neighbor was a physician and was able to get her daughter breathing again, but she was unconscious all the way to the hospital. When her daughter woke up, she looked at Judy and the first thing she said was, “I touched God’s sandals, Mommy.”

Rachel, another fellow flight attendant, told me her story. Her mother had passed away a few years prior. Two days after she died, her father said the lamp that was only used by her mom came on. Rachel told him maybe mom was trying to make contact from the other side.

Two days after that, just before the funeral Rachel woke up to find her own bedroom light on. She knew she didn’t leave it on when she went to sleep. She asked her mom if that was her. The light went off. Rachel said she heard her mother’s voice say, “Clear your head, Rachel.” She said she wasn’t afraid at all. The light came back on. Her mother said, “I loved your
father, I loved my five children, and I loved my five grandchildren.” Then the light went off again. A second or two passed and the light came back on. “I am in the light and I am at peace. I will help you with your father.” Again, the light shut off. One last time the light came back on only to hear her mother’s last words: “Believe, trust and pray.” Then the light turned off.

I was talking to a young, African-American passenger who was in the military. I asked if his parents were still here. He shook his head no. His mother had passed a few years prior. I asked if he was there when she passed. He was in the hospital with her, and when she died he felt her pat him on the back as she departed.

From what I have heard, death is an easy, spiritual transition. You are in your body one moment and in another dimension the next. Heaven has been described with blazing colors that diminish the most vibrant of our earthly shades. Unimaginable beauty surrounds one and you are filled with an immense feeling of peace and contentment. Recognizable loved ones or guardian angels are there with you to guide you in the transition. We will all find out soon enough but from what I can tell I don’t think death is anything to fear.

ne of the most dangerous things that can happen to your aircraft on takeoff and landing is to hit a bird. You wouldn’t think these feathered creatures could do so much damage, but they can. The miracle on the Hudson River is a prime example of what can happen.

I flew with a captain who told me his frightening experience. He was taking off when several birds flew right into the engine. Shrapnel went everywhere, shredding the engine. The steering wheel was shaking so violently it took all of his strength to hold it steady to circle back to the runway. The flight attendants could see outdoors through the bottom of the galley door. They said the plane sounded like a giant silverware drawer being shaken up and down. No one was injured.

Our bird incident wasn’t so dramatic, but it was eventful. Upon arrival in Tampa, we hit a huge crane. It left about a quarter-inch dent on the wing. The captain called the maintenance
department, and the assessment was not good. According to the FAA, the dent exceeded the minimum amount a fuselage can be damaged. The aircraft would have to go out of service.

This was the last flight departing from Tampa. The passengers had already boarded and we were ready to depart to New York. An elderly woman sitting in first class seemed overly distraught. I went to her to see if I could be of any assistance. She explained her husband passed away and his body was in the cargo department. I got a chill knowing there was a corpse right below us. She went on to say his funeral was scheduled early tomorrow morning in New York.

I hated to have to tell this already grieving woman the flight was cancelled. There were no other flights with us or any other carrier. Tragically for this family that poor man was going to fulfill the cliché and in fact be late for his own funeral.

was in Miami International Airport by the gate taking tickets from the passengers for our flight to San Francisco. A flight service manager approached me: “Hey, have you heard about Rebecca? She was flying the same trip you are on, two days earlier, and passed away in her room in San Francisco.” I asked for Rebecca’s last name, but she didn’t remember.

I continued pulling tickets. Rebecca, Rebecca, the only Rebecca I knew was my good friend Rebecca, but she was way too young. I pictured a flight attendant in her 50s, 60s, maybe even 70s. Not someone in her 40s.

My friend Terri, whom I was flying with, left the aircraft to pull up the flight schedule of two days ago to see if we could solve the mystery. I joined her at the computer as all passengers were now on board. I was sure I wouldn’t know her. I gazed at the number one position. My knees buckled, tears filled my eyes. I gasped! There was her name. It was my Rebecca.

Rebecca and I flew together three months earlier. Her big, beautiful blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair was her trademark, and she had a young son who was her life. I loved flying with her. She had swapped one of her trips we were on that month. “If I had known you were going to be flying with me,” she said. “I would never have traded it.” She was divorced from her husband, but remained amicable with him and had a new boyfriend who was very good to her.

On the way to San Francisco, I thought of her the whole trip. I wanted to know what happened to my friend. “How, when, why?”

We arrived at the Sheraton hotel. I asked the front desk clerk what happened to Rebecca.

“She didn’t show up for the van pick up, so one of the flight attendants and security guard went to check on her,” he said. “That’s when they discovered she had passed away.”

She was 46 years old.

“Which room was she was in?” I asked.

“Well, her room has not been released yet because it has only been two days, but she was in room 909,” the clerk replied.

I looked down at my key.
Hmm, 910
. I was saying earlier on the plane I wouldn’t mind if Rebecca came to visit me in my room, I would like to say goodbye to her. The other flight
attendants said, “Not me.” They didn’t know her, and they didn’t want to be visited by her from the other side.

The flight attendants walked down the hall together. “915, 914, 913, 912, 911, 910.” I stopped at 910. Right next to me was room 909. Terri looked at me with her eyebrow lifted as I walked into my room. Almost to say, “You asked for it.” I heard a moaning wind tunnel under my doorway as I closed it.
Uhh, that’s a little spooky
.

I opened my suitcase, pulled out my pajamas, and quickly put them on. I looked at the door adjoining my room. “Wow, that was Rebecca’s room.” She was the last person to lie in that bed. I pictured her in that heavenly signature bed Sheraton hotels are known for.