Every year about this time I contemplate whether or not to head to New England and celebrate the holidays with my family. I think about my mother’s home in Connecticut, a guaranteed White Christmas, sitting around the fireplace and enjoying those Caribbean Christmas specialties that only my mother can cook to perfection. This year, however, an incident that occurred while on a plane from New York to Puerto Rico has left me undecided.
Our flight from New York departed at 8:30 a.m. Our estimated time of arrival into San Juan was 12:30 p.m. The skies were clear. The pilot announced that the weather conditions were favorable – something I will question in the future.
I’ve made this journey many times. Raised in Brooklyn, I would visit my grandparents pretty regularly. However, I was especially excited about this particular trip. My teenage daughter and young son were finally going to see where I was born.
Our plane was equipped with visual monitors, attached to the back of each seat, allowing passengers to watch television, purchase a movie or even watch a simulation of the flight itself.
Two hours after takeoff, I muttered to my husband that we might encounter turbulence as we were entering the Bermuda Triangle. Yet, my concern gradually subsided as our plane continued to glide smoothly in a cloudless horizon, my thoughts drifting back to the white beaches, and the house we had rented in the Caribbean rainforest.
That all ended suddenly. Without warning, I felt a powerful jolt under my seat. The plane dipped dramatically and swerved from side to side. I immediately grabbed my husband’s arm. I know turbulence, and this was not your average turbulence. Then I felt another jolt, this one even more powerful. I could hear cries of panic and terror from the other passengers around me as the plane made another descent. One of the flight attendant fell to the floor while the cockpit doors flung open. Our seats were on the right side, so we could not see the entire cockpit. However, we could clearly see that the pilot’s chair was empty! The plane then began to plunge downward. As I looked at the monitor, I could see that the plane was no longer headed southeast but west, towards the Bahamas – although it appeared some 500 miles away.
It is often said that when faced with the fear of impending death, your life flashes in front of you. Whether that’s true or not, one thing is certain: The fear of a horrific ending conjures up many different feelings at once.
As our descent continued, my son, my husband and I were clinging firmly to each other. And as I felt the uncontrolled shaking of the plane, and as I was surrounded by shrieks of “Oh my God!” and pleas of “Salve miss hypos” (save my children), I felt more guilt and anger than actual fear. I felt guilty because I convinced my daughter, who was already terrified of flying, that she had nothing to fear. I also blamed myself for allowing her to bring her two best friends. I felt responsible for the lives of my children and the children of other parents who trusted me. I was also angry because this was a cruel twist of fate dealt to my son and daughter, who for months talked about nothing but seeing Mami’s homeland for the first time. Was this the closest they would get to the Caribbean islands: their remains scattered at the bottom of the Atlantic?
For what seemed an eternity, I also wondered if I’d see my mother again. I prayed that my children would not suffer. And I reflected on my accomplishments in life. “Did I live a full life?” I asked myself. “Had I been a good mother?”
Eventually, the plane did regain control (obviously). We all sat still in silence. As I looked around, I could see people – family, friends and strangers – letting go their hugs and each other’s hands. The serving tray, which moments before held my soft drink, had been pushed back in its folded-up position. The cup was gone; I could feel its contents on my lap. Then I started shaking uncontrollably.
A flight attendant named Arturo tried to talk to me into a calm. Although his words were comforting, he tried to explain away my fears, that the pilot had merely gone to the restroom when the plane met unexpected turbulence. I finally regained my composure, though I remained wide awake throughout the final 90 minutes of our flight.
Upon our return to Colorado, we began to take a closer look at the research and literature regarding the Bermuda Triangle. Although publications are extensive, we continue to discover information and testimony that only supports our conviction that what occurred was not simply unexpected turbulence and that we had not subscribed to a superstitious hoax.
Will I be traveling to Connecticut this holiday season? Certainly not on a plane.
Emilia Fernández Valerio (emilia01@earthlink.net) is an educator and graduate student at the University of Denver who currently works at the central Denver Public Library.
