Malaysia Air Flight 370 disappeared from radar almost three weeks ago. It feels like yesterday to me, but I am sure it feels like a lifetime ago for the families of the some 279 missing passengers and crew who the world is waiting to find.
If only we could provide those families with answers quickly in horrible situations like this. Immediately, when the plane went missing, I thought only of an airplane crashing into the ocean, into a hillside, and then being found the next day amid smoking wreckage or a giant oil slick and floating debris on the surface of the water with remains of the tragic event clearly evident to rescuers and those searching only to retrieve pieces of the plane.
But that did not happen. We, the viewing public, were told what the families waiting in airports and hotel lobbies in Beijing and Malaysia were told. We were told that the plane could not be found, that it had simply disappeared.
Even then, I thought that it would be a very short period of unknown. Surely something this big would be located with all out technology. Then I began to realize that the ocean is a vast place, and the sky is a vast, and the night is vast and empty for a plane flying so high at that hour. It is not so unusual to lose a plane in our vast world. But surely we will find it.
All the time I thought only one thing really. These poor souls are dead, and we must find them eventually. I had an eerie picture of darkness, of people sleeping, not knowing what was happening, hopefully being unaware of their fate. I thought possibly of hijackers, but I thought mostly of a malfunction or malfunctions in the aircraft. I considered the idea of hijackers forcing the plane into the ocean. Again, I hoped that many of the people were alseep, perhaps without oxygen, unable to fight, unaware that they were going to die, unafraid if only until the last second, if at all. I hope they knew nothing. I still hope that. This is the most terrifying picture. Someone, some artist must share the terrifying thoughts I had.
What I did not buy in to was the myriad of conspiracy theories ranging from slightly possible to absolutely ridiculous, which American News channels started to report even one day after the plane crashed, or went missing. I say crashed, because what else happens to a plane which disappears. It falls from the sky. It is broken into thousands of pieces. People die. It is a tragedy. No?
But CNN managed to come up with alternate stories. Hijackers who took the plane to a location and landed it, kept the passengers hostage to use as pawns in a future attack, perhaps when they had collected more passengers from more hijacked planes.
This theory began to grow and even seem real to people while I stared at my television screen is disbelief.
There was the plane hit by a meteor theory.
There was the theory that the pilot and crew organized the event in a suicidal show of resistance against the arrest of a Malaysian government member for sodomy charges.
There was the theory that ongoing negotiations with hijackers were happening but we were not being told.
There was the theory that the plane rode behind another aircraft in its radar shadow and landed behind that plane unnoticed.There was the theory that the plane landed on some remote runway somewhere without making contact with anyone.....for days. And days.
These scenarios are offensive and ridiculous and highly embarrassing to listen to. Can't we come up with better as a country to help people deal with their grief?
Children can:
Yes, we miss you, we love you, we pray for you, and we think of you. Our hearts are with you, and we wish you had not been hurt. We wish you had not died. We love you and will remember you. One day we will find you.
I did not purchase the bag with the psychedelic arrangement of Coach "C"s all over it which made it so eye catching to me, and so pleasing, and so beautiful.
What I decided was that I "needed" the one I found a few days later with black patent leather straps and giant multi-colored poppy flowers. This one was more expensive, but I decided that if I was going to make a purchase so grand, perhaps I should get the one which I really liked, and not only that, the one with the most resale value. There were only two of the one I purchased available on Ebay, and it seemed that everybody else in the Ebay universe also wanted them. But as I said, I can sell it. Also, the final tipping point; the interior of the bag is a delightful, carnelian blue silk which should be worn by the children of royalty.
But then I saw the bag I had originally wanted, before the psychedelic "C"s. This one was also a poppy bag in silver and black with a red poppy scrawled on the side. Silver graffiti writing, the same two awesome pockets on the front and plenty of hang tags. That bag is now on its wag. Yes, I bought it. Some time soon I am going to have to think about selling them. The little push of life they gave me as I looked at them and bid on them has not even lasted until the second bag arrives in the mail. Yes, I like the giant flower bag, but not nearly as much as I thought I would, and I am already regretting noticing the listing for the silver and black one. Meanwhile, the silver smoke smelling one sits like a shamed puppy in time out. Or perhaps I am the shamed puppy. Yes, I think that is more apt.
I have created grief through purchase yet again, and to top it off, Roosevelt the bunny will be arriving to wipe away my tears with his knubbly grey legs, polka dot paws and lavender fluffy ears, filled with lilac and violets. I hope he can mend my heart. As always, he is "the last" thing I will buy to end my pain and anxiety.
I already love you Roosevelt. More than any bag.
