My father was aboard the plane that crashed in Chicago. He was a neuroradiologist on his way to a medical symposium in Japan. My father was a Taiwanese immigrant who came to the states alone, worked 80 hours a week so he could bring his entire family here, -- all his brothers, sisters, children, wife, mother. At the time of the crash, I was 18 months old, and my three older sisters were 8, 15, and 16. The event was a total eruption in our worlds, and especially for my mother, who at the time didn't know how to write a check, drive a car, or speak English. It is my belief that under such a task, and with the cloud of such a coup de foudre over one's head, one either buckles under the weight of it all, or rises to the occasion. My mother is an amazing woman -- the most amazing person I know. She rose to the occasion , bringing all of us up single-handedly, and putting us through some of the best educational institutions around (Duke, Yale, Berkeley, UVA, UNC). My sisters have their own happy families and lives now. I have come to see that although this disaster was the end of my father's life in this reality, it was the genesis of a whole new life for my mother. She is everything to me. I have only one memory of my father: I can vividly remember riding on the back of a bicycle, in a plastic child's seat, and seeing the back of my father, seeing his legs pedal that thing around our house in Rochester, being scared for my life. It is clear as day in my mind. I also have a memory of my family sitting and mourning at the end of a hall in an airport terminal. . . i was running around and playing, not having any clue that I had just lost my father. I really appreciate the messages on this site; they have filled so many gaps in the attempts to make some sense of my father's death. You know, a couple of them talk about Lindsey Wagner not feeling right about the flight and leaving the plane only to have her seat taken by someone else's loved one, or that guy who had the premonitions of the crash. My mother has often told me that after she kissed my father goodbye, and as he walked onto the boarding ramp, she saw his face turn an intense yellow, and she had a bad feeling about it. She also tells me that she tried to convince my father to take her and my sisters and I with him, and he would have except that he thought I was too young to take. And so my mom credits me as saving our lives. I don't know. I am realizing now that I am still working through a lot of this. I don't want to make this feedback into a therapy session. I guess the last thing I would say is that I believe this disaster occurred for a reason -- I happen to believe that all of the stuff that goes down, like 9-11, or whatever, doesn't just randomly occur. And that the imagery of the phoenix mean much to me, of that mythical creature which dies in flames but is reborn more beautiful than ever. Death has a purpose, and there is meaning in the way the world moves. I missed having a father but I had the most incredible mother a guy could ever ask for. nozomiphoenix@verizon. net

--Andy