WHY ???

The Stewardess walks down the aisle of the economy section on the BOAC Jet, heading for Heathrow Airport. She notices everyone is asleep except one woman sitting in the middle seat of aisle D.
“Would you like anything to drink? Tea, Juice?” Our Heroine Joan LaGrange looks up from her reverie. “Tea would be nice, thank you.” While sipping her tea, she looks at all the passengers around her. Everyone is asleep. She tells herself she should doze off. She tries, but is unable. Her 9-year-old son Christopher, sitting by the window seat, is sound asleep. Joan pulls the blanket up higher around his neck. She looks at him with all the love a mother can have for her child. She thinks back a couple of hours ago; when they were still in the airport waiting to get aboard, how Christopher amused himself by taking in a slice of life. She had been proud of him when he had taken charge of the situation, by holding on to the carry-on luggage while she had checked the others.
She remembers watching people in their throes of bon voyage; awkward silences, and forced gaiety. Thinking of all these ‘good-byes,’ how many would become permanent? How many of these temporary partings might turn out to be forever? Like hers, be drawn into a very different path.
After her cup is empty, Joan is on the borderline of sleep, when images come floating before her, in never ending succession. Being aloft for the next few hours is the perfect occasion for thinking, clarifying her life. She rests her head on the pillow and reminisces. She lets her mind slip into her memories.
I often wonder how different my life would have been if I had not boarded the plane to come to Canada in August 1947. That was so long ago, ten years of sorrows and adversity. Now, it seems that all of it has been a bad dream. However, unlike a dream which when you wake up, you find everything is the same, nothing in my life is the same, or ever will be.
I left Marc at the Heathrow Airport and now I am coming back not even knowing whether he is still alive. I remember him so well, standing there looking sad and forlorn. I can still see him, holding me close for an instant then releasing me to gaze into my eyes. His tender kisses, his soft voice whispering: “I wish I could go with you, Sweetheart.”
I could only shed tears.
I still remember the night Mum announced to me that we were going to Canada. She had insisted that I accompany her. I had pleaded,
“I won’t go to Canada with you, Mother; I can’t. I have my work here at the hospital and I don’t want to leave Marc.”
We had an awful argument, and it ended with Mum rushing to her bedroom with another one of her attacks. I had felt guilty for having upset her to that extent; but somehow I had the strangest feeling that if I went to Canada …I would never see Marc or this house again.
I shall never forget Saturday, August 30th, 1947. Not only because of the party, which was as much fun for the young people as the celebrants, but also because of whom I met for the first time. Guests were arriving and being introduced to me (if only I could remember all the names I thought.). I met Bertha that night for the first time. She was a large woman with a permanent smile, very pleasant indeed. Aunt Alice had asked her to stay close to Mum, as she was busy with other guests.
One man impressed me not only by his looks, but also by his demeanor. Aunt Alice had introduced me to Alan Todd. She had elaborated that Al was from New York.
“Your Mum, Uncle Rod, and Al go back a long way. They all went to school in England together.” I realized she could not include my Dad; he had been so much older.
I remember shaking Alan’s hand; he held mine a little longer than usual. He seemed genuinely happy to meet me. Aunt Alice asked,
“Where is your Mum, by the way? I bet she will be surprised to see Al after all these years!” Then Bertha and Mum entered the living room together.
I remember watching her when she saw him. She became teary eyed, and speechless. He clasped her hand in both of his. She held her other hand to her heart, repeating,
“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!” They hugged for longer than old friends usually do. Mum looked genuinely happy to see him.

All I seemed to be able to do, somewhat mechanically, was to slip off his soaked overcoat. I hung it up in the closet which was empty; which reminded me, that I had to go. I had a plane to catch. Like a robot, I helped him up the stairs to my room. I went to the bathroom and got a towel. I dried his hair and said,
“What are we going to do?” I repeated, “What are we going to do?” He did not answer; he sobbed. I looked at the clock. It was 8:25. I knew then that I had missed my flight. I was so confused. I felt so bad for Jack and sorry for myself that I started to cry.
I walked over to the lounge chair and dropped in it with tears rolling down my face. Jack fell down on his knees in front of me. He wrapped both his arms around my hips and rested his head on my lap; he was still crying. I do not know why he cried so much but I sure knew why I was crying. Tomorrow I would not be with Marc. Fate had not been kind to me. Why?