A Flight Home

I was born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii, and spent my adult life as an aviator, retiring as a jumbo jet captain. In June 1989, I was hired as a DC-10 co-pilot for World Airways, an American international charter airline flying all over the world.

In June 1999, I upgraded to jumbo jet captain and, by chance, was sent to Honolulu for my very first trip in the left seat. I was excited—it was home, and where I learned to fly. As a junior captain, crew scheduling could’ve sent me anywhere. Honolulu trips were rare.

With a 30-hour layover, I rented a car and drove to see my dad and stepmom. I had a decent relationship with my dad, but didn’t see him much after moving to the mainland in my twenties. We spent a few hours just relaxing and chatting. With a 3:00 a.m. wake-up for the Guam flight, I called it a night and headed back to the hotel.

After ten days flying to Guam, Osan, and Kuala Lumpur, I got home to Vegas—and received a phone call. My stepmom said my father was dying of pancreatic cancer and probably wouldn’t last the night. By morning, he was gone.

I don’t know how or why I was fortunate enough to see him during his last days. As an agnostic, I’m not sure I believe a higher power was at work. Was it just random dumb luck? Or something else? I’ll never know.

Maybe it’s unrelated, but in the late ’60s I experimented with psychedelics and came to an understanding of spirituality that’s stayed with me. I believe spirituality is wherever you may find it.