I just read a post on my Facebook stream that Airplane (the movie) was released 38 years ago. What memories that brought back. Bittersweet and yet not sad.
Thirty-eight years ago, my then husband Ken Williams and I had fled to the shore to spend a long weekend in Ocean City at a borrowed house belonging to friends who wanted to offer us a bit of comfort after a huge shock. I had sat in a doctor’s office with Ken just 3 days before and heard what no one wants or expects to hear . . . a diagnosis of late stage cancer. It was called non-Hodgkins lymphoma — a cancer that these days is serious but considered more of a chronic condition than a terminal one. But in those days, there were far fewer effective treatments and the doc struggled to tell us that Ken might have 3 months to live and would need to begin treatment in the hospital immediately.
We bargained with the doc (and, I suppose, with fate) and asked for one week of reprieve. We had been married just over one year, and were trying to get pregnant, but treatment (if Ken survived) would make him infertile. The doc said one week would not make a difference, but to be sure it wasn’t longer.
So, we ended up in Ocean City. Our time together was not only to try (futilely, it turned out) to get pregnant, but also to savor our last few days together before entering the world of chemo, radiation, and hospitals. It was time tinged with knowledge of what we were facing, but holding each other, not letting go of each other’s hands as we walked, trying to hide tears from each other — all this was important and, in a sense, offering whatever balm was possible at such times.
So the second night we were at Ocean City we walked the boardwalk, one of Ken’s favorite things. We passed the lone theater which was advertising Airplane. It had been overcast all day — that grey sky dark with ominous heavy curtains of clouds just waiting to drop their payload of rain. As we passed the marquee, the sky opened and rain fell with ferocity. We stood under the marquee, then I suggested maybe seeing this movie — I had not seen ads for it and had no idea what it was. I just wanted a distraction.
What a wonderful serendipitous opportunity it was. We sat in the theater, almost the only patrons, and laughted until tears came. These were not the tears of sadness, though, but of unbridled laughter. For 90 minutes, our fears and grief were lightened and less present as we watched the screen.
At the end of 5 days, we returned to our home in Mt. Pocono and Ken entered St. Luke’s Hospital in Bethlehem — a 50 minute ride from home and the closest cancer treatment center at the time. But our time in Ocean City was marked by that movie — we found we could laugh and find joy even in the midst of tragedy and threat. That experience has never been forgotten. Thirty-eight years ago today . . . like it was yesterday.
Jane+
Pilgrimages and Paths 