Eagles, Raptors and Gargoyles

I love being on this beach watching the jets fly over.

Almost exactly 20 years ago I was right here, doing exactly that. On one particular day I was hoping for a little wing-rock from one before I rushed to the Air Force base to take pictures of Kevin landing from his first solo flight in the F-15 Eagle. It was a big deal then, we were on a huge adventure. He was studying hard, always “two rides from busting out…” and very excited to be doing what he was doing. He didn't dare to hope he would still be doing it 20 years later.

Today I know better than to look for the wing-rock--he can't give it to me--but I will drive to base and take some pictures of him flying and landing the F-22 Raptor for the first time. And it’s still a big deal, I'm pretty excited. For crying out loud he’s still flying, and it's the hottest, latest most fearsome jet in the world.

Admittedly, since he’s now logged close to 4000 hours of fighter time, we aren’t quite as worked up as we were back then, we’ve done more than a few photo-ops by cool jets. I’ve seen my share of fini-flights, I even had tears at a couple, thinking these days were done, that the fun was over. I’ve helped his buddies drench him, and him drench his buddies with champagne and the fire hose many times.

Still, this will only happen once, and these moments should be even a little sweeter at this age--it's a bit of a charmed life, and it can't last. (Although, we've been saying that for a lot of years...) He’s incredibly fortunate to still be doing this. It’s also good for me to get out there and try to understand what it is he does. Every time I’m still amazed, I still have some trouble getting my head around it.

It feels a little like home to have him flying again—to see him a little lifted by it, to live where I can hear the sound of jets. I’ll start checking my watch again when I see one--would he be up right now? Might that be him? And I love hearing how the dogfight went down when he gets home.

But then this morning, a reality check.

In a rush to get out the door he hands me a questionnaire I have to fill out and sign before he can fly. Standard, I have no time to give it any thought, it is just a square that has to be filled, and it’s not like I haven’t seen this before, I know exactly what it is.

It’s a form that goes in an envelope only to be opened by his commander if he doesn’t make it back from one of these missions. It lists all my preferences on how I’ll want things handled—who I’ll want to bring me the news, who I’ll want the Air Force to notify, and who I’ll want flown in to help me deal with it all. Do I have a clergyman I’ll want around? Will I need someone to help out with kids or pets? What kind of funeral will I want? Cremation?

Somehow I forgot about this part, and in the five minutes I had to fill the form out I couldn't get my sleepy brain to think straight. I already want to change my answers.

Yeah, so that old, tiny, undermining feeling of fear I used to be so familiar with just came back... I’m surprised I didn’t miss that bastard in the past 18 months, I'm so accustomed to him. He's a feeling I want to shove aside because the worst can’t possibly happen, but...since it actually can, he never goes away. I’m great at ignoring him though, we have a highly dysfunctional relationship. He's like a gargoyle that lives in the darkest corner of my brain..."Not one peep," I tell him. "I don't want to hear it." Mostly he stays quiet and just looks scary. I do not ever want to hear him roar.

I guess I’ll get back to checking the clock on flying days, waiting for Kevin's landing time to pass. I know if I haven’t heard anything by then, it’s all good and I’m still running my life...

Apparently I'm running it now, because I'm really looking forward to being out on the flight line again.