Just another flying lesson

I got home to receive an urgent telephone call from Peter, Julian’s colleague: apparently, my husband’s phone had ‘gone for a swim’. I started getting concerned. I knew he had gone up in a plane with an instructor, and swimming had certainly not been on his agenda. I knew Peter liked flying too. I extracted the truth. Julian had indeed been in a plane – but the pilot had flown the plane too low above a lake and hit water at over 90 miles an hour. The plane had quickly sunk, with Julian and his instructor still inside.  

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; my little world was turning upside-down. Peter then told me the good news. Julian and the pilot had made a miraculous escape through one of the doors that had been forced open upon impact. They had swum in painfully freezing temperatures for half an hour, been rescued by a police helicopter and had ended up in hospital in the final stages of hypothermia an hour away from home in an area I didn’t know and had no idea how to reach. Peter had coincidentally been at the airstrip and was now calling from the hospital. 

I was unsure about what to do next. I felt very alone. I thought perhaps I should phone my mum – mothers always know what to do in events like this, surely? But as my mother lived in the UK, 12 hours flying time away from us, this didn’t seem like a very practical course of action. So I went in a daze to collect the children from their activity. On the way, I realised how much our family unit needed Daddy. Although like many dads, he is not around all the time, or even most of the time, the children know he is always there: to throw them into the swimming pool, to fix their toys, to upgrade the computer, and just to be their Daddy. Even if he was travelling frequently due to work commitments, I have always assumed he would come back – in full health. And he always has. There would be no way I would be staying in South Africa without him. 

Amaani and her big brother were oblivious to my mental state, but emotionally-astute Safiyya immediately realised something was wrong.  Then my friend from madrasa happened to see me collecting the kids and assumed from her knowledge of South Africa and my (lack of) composure that my car had been hijacked.  I managed to explain what had happened, and that I had no master plan about what to do next. But God is the best of planners.

My friend took us home, fed the children, and called her doctor husband. He knew the hospital, and offered to drive us all there. Asim and Amaani were not keen to see their dad: why would they visit a Daddy who was cold and wet when they could be playing with their friends who were warm and dry – and who had a garden? I could see their point. Safiyya was keen to see Daddy again, and I knew Daddy was pretty keen to see her. The doctor explained the hypothermia was so severe that Julian would have died if he had been rescued just 10 minutes later. The three of us were gratefully reunited.

Asim later reflected and thought Daddy was so lucky: in just one morning, he had been in both an aeroplane and a helicopter; life clearly wasn’t fair. At sunset, the children prayed. Amaani’s dua was comprehensive: ‘Dear God, please can I go up with Daddy in a plane-but I don’t want to crash’. Asim was aspirational: ‘Please God, can I go up in a helicopter like my Daddy?’ and Safiyya simply said, ’Thank you God for saving my Daddy.’ 

Early the following evening, Julian and I were in mid-conversation; Amaani tried to make a point. Julian firmly told Amaani to be quiet; and she turned around, walking slowly and sadly away. Feeling guilty, he ran after her and picked her up. She was close to tears. He hugged her and then I saw he was crying himself. Amaani of course just found this annoying, as she thought he was trying to copy her. Just five minutes later, Julian went off to the airport to get in a rather bigger aeroplane to the UK for a work meeting; and left me emotionally drained with three hungry children and a messy house. 

Everything had changed – but nothing had changed.   Thank God for that.