The Visit
My dad was sick, real sick. He was like a fish out of water gasping for air. Throat cancer caused by too many unfiltered cigarettes were finally taking their toll. He was on his final run, and everyone at the V.A. nursing home knew it. My mother moved him there several months ago when he became immobile and she was starting to hurt herself moving him around. She had been taking care of him in a vegetated state for 17 years; ever since he suffered major brain damage from a fall he took while taking out the trash. What an ending for a 2 star fighter pilot.
My final visit to his nursing home wound up in a confrontation with his assigned doctor. The arrogant little nerd was exercising his authority by restricting my gasping father to a minimum dosage of morphine. He claimed a higher dosage may prove addictive. My arguments revolved around the logic of let him become addictive, he only has a month to live at most, and at least let him go in comfort. Only when the doctor turned away from me midsentence, did I become physical.
Grapping the doctor's arm, I spun him around and pulled his face a few inches from mine. I snarled, "This man you're denying last comforts to, served in 3 wars and retired as a 2 star general. He deserves more respect and honor than you're showing. Give him what he needs for comfort . Now."
Plainly frightened and unaccustomed to such physical expression, he meekly responded, "I'll see what I can do."
Three days later while preparing for a 0300 hrs. approach into Fargo, North Dakota, my father's spirit entered the FedEx DC-10 cockpit and looked around with my eyes. He scanned my instrument panel, check out my copilot, his instruments, then turned to check out the second officer's panel and pilot. Leaving me with a feeling of extreme pride, he departed. All this took a total of 20 seconds, but aroused the curiosity of my copilot.
My copilot, Carl, was one of the most professional copilots in our company. He was large, black and extremely friendly. Looking concerned, he asked me, "Steve, you okay? Looks like you've seen a ghost."
I replied, "Yeah, I'm okay, but my father just died."
Now the second officer, Bill, a young ex-fighter pilot, jumped in. "No shit! How do you know?"
"He was just here."
That got a reaction out of them. Carl's eyes became as big as saucers and he slid as far away from me as his console allowed. Bill leaned as far back as he could with his mouth hung open. One of them, I can't remember which, said "Uhhh, and what did he do while he was here?"
I turned to face them both so they could see I was sincere. "He just looked around at the aircraft's instruments, then left with a feeling of great pride."
Silence. The tension in the cockpit became so thick you needed a knife to cut it.
"Okay." I said. "I know I sound a little weird here and I've upset you both."
"No sir, I'm not upset, I'm just scared shitless." Stuttered Carl. Bill was frantically looking around the cockpit.
"Here's the deal. I'll give the rest of this leg to Carl, and I'll perform copilot duties. Bill, you get the crash axe and keep it near you. If I do anything out of the ordinary to jeopardize our safety, I want you to use that axe on me. Is that understood?"
Bill answered, but halfheartedly, "Ah shit man, that's not necessary."
"That's not a request, that's an order, Bill. Now go get it." He unbuckled and retrieved the crash axe from behind the jump seat.
"Carl, you've got the aircraft." I then disconnected the autopilot from my set of instruments and Carl reconnected with his.
The cockpit was completely sterile with no chitchat as we started preparing for descent. Bill made contact with the FedEx cargo ramp and gave them the arrival information.
Motoring his seat tight against ours, he said, "Uh Steve, ramp told me to tell you to call the duty officer just as soon as we block in. I put the crash axe back."
It's understood in our industry that when the duty officer wants you, somebody died or is gravely ill. In my case, it was to tell me that my father had passed away.