"One hundred and forty souls on board. God bless us all, Moncton tower."
"God bless you, Flight 228, God bless you all."
All engines gone and all that was left for Captain Lance Massey and Co-pilot Andrea Frazier to do was to glide their aircraft to its final descent into the cold waters of the North Atlantic.
It had been uneventful flight, one of thousands made each year, a number of them by this plane and by this crew. Everyone had been eager to finally board the plane after a four hour delay in Heathrow. Could any of us have ever imagined that all our lives would come to this and come to this together?
The cabin was half full of souls either journeying away from a place called home or returning to such a place. We each took our seats in the midst of a moment that will stand forever on the frontier between memories and dreams, between the realm of what will never be again and the realm of what will never be.
Here I sit in Seat 11A. All alone. Filling these final minutes with unexpected thoughts. It is odd to me, there is no panicked fear tearing at me, but there is instead a strange reverie of peace, a slowing down of all things so that a lifetime might be gathered into this one forever moment.