11:43 P.M.
Alone in silence. Just my thoughts and God.
I WAS DRIFTING IN and out of sleep. The ever-present thought lingering, “Thank God. We are still alive.”
Instead of rest and solace, a few hours ago a monster whirlwind had hit in the form of the media. Somehow, not too surprisingly, word got out about the crash, and as Jayann, Heather, and I were being cared for in the emergency room, Saint Al’s started encountering reporters of every shape and kind, each wanting an interview with the “captain from a California fire department who crashed his plane into the side of a mountain,” including bringing cameras into our hospital rooms.
When I refused, knowing what my face looked like, something out of a horror movie, the last thing anyone should see on television or the Internet, they went ahead and ripped personal pictures of me and my family from my Facebook page.
By the time I got to my room late in the afternoon, reporters were already calling every five minutes. One jerk, somehow getting on my floor, snuck right up to my bed. When I realized what he did for a living, I kicked him out of my room, followed by the hospital evicting him and threatening arrest.
What a nightmare.
That’s when Elizabeth Duncan, the hospital’s media director, stepped in, shutting down the phones to our rooms and tightening security. We discussed a game plan to get the horde of reporters off my back. She identified a few reliable reporters to get the story. “Call these with the story. Tell them that they will need to pass it along and leave you alone.”
Through the whole crisis, I couldn’t have been more proud of Tabitha. Start to finish, she had done so very well.
During the night, when information about us was practically nonexistent, she continued to call the Owyhee County Sheriff’s Office over and over again. “This is Tabitha Howell. My family was in a plane crash, and I’m calling to find out any new information you have about them.” Sometime after 6:00 a.m., she learned that we had been found by Air St. Luke’s and, once rescuers got us off the mountain, would be flown to the Saint Alphonsus Regional Medical Center.
Reaching the hospital, Tabitha ended up getting lost. Asking a nurse for directions, the nurse, seeing Tabitha’s distress, asked if she was all right. “I’m okay,” Tabitha answered, “but my mom, dad, and sister were in a plane crash last night. I am supposed to meet them here when the helicopters bring them in.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. We’ll get you where you need to be.”
The nurse kindly got her to the emergency room reception desk. Thus began hours of waiting. Tabitha made calls to family and extended family members, leaving messages or speaking with them directly, most of them asking her what they could do. Halfway around the world, her husband, Jamin, got the word to friends and coworkers overseas and in Idaho. Soon people arrived, including an Idaho state trooper, the nephew of a family friend, to sit with her at the hospital, while others brought food.
Information trickled in about our condition: Heather with a possibly broken pelvis, her mom with some broken ribs and a head laceration, and me, head laceration and broken bones. Around 2:00 p.m., the nurses retrieved Tabitha and she soon saw her sister and then her mom, both looking bluish in color, being swarmed by doctors and nurses. Despite their injuries, Heather and Jayann were awake and coherent. Then lastly, seeing my face covered in dried blood, Tabitha still didn’t lose it. Instead she told me that she loved me and jokingly added that I looked “better than normal.”
Tabitha became our field coordinator, handling the arrival of family members and friends, taking calls, updating everyone with the latest information, going through what had been retrieved from the crash site, including our cell phones and my iPad, and even staying throughout the night in her sister’s hospital room.
Like me, Tabitha had a few run-ins of her own with the media. Disheartening. Made me angry for my family and this violation of our vulnerability. Made me have a lot of understanding for other people who had gone through a crisis, only to have it land in the media spotlight.
Those in our immediate family circle heard about what had happened through Tabitha’s calls, the Internet, news reports, or by word-of-mouth. Jayann’s mom and stepfather, Fritz, were at Lake Tahoe when, early Sunday morning, their son, James, a doctor himself, called them after hearing from Tabitha.
Jayann’s mom, Janice, heard Fritz say from the bedroom, “Oh, hello, James. What! Brian’s plane crashed?” Shaking in fear, she ran to her husband, wondering, “Are they dead? Are they alive?”
Given that it was still early, James knew only that we had crashed and that rescuers were figuring out how to get us off the mountain. After the call, Fritz and Janice immediately packed and headed for the hospital in Boise, an eight- to ten-hour drive.
It wasn’t long before friends and family got to the hospital from all corners including Jamin’s parents from Portland. It was a small circus of well-wishers cycling between Heather, Jayann, and me, each wanting to hear the story and see how we were doing. Many others, hearing the interview I gave over the radio, emailed, called, and texted. As friends and family showed up, Tabitha continued checking on the three of us, making sure that we had what we needed or wanted and that the relatives weren’t driving us too crazy.
Most of my immediate family didn’t find out until the next day. Many of them, including my mom, were spending Memorial Day weekend in a cabin in Northern California, one so far out that it didn’t have cell phone coverage or a land line. When my sister, Beth, her husband, and son got down the mountain on Monday, they retrieved the messages that Tabitha had sent. After speaking with Tabitha, Beth called our mom who had reached Redding, California, with my brother, his wife, and sister-in-law.
“Mom, first off, everyone is okay,” Beth said. Because Mom was secure about my flying, the thought she had was that Beth, Bob, and Daniel had been in some kind of automobile accident.
“No, Mom. It’s Brian. His plane went down.”
Mom, a steady soul, asked, “How are they? Are they badly hurt?”
“They are all right. Brian has had a lot of stitches in his head. Jayann has broken some ribs. Heather has some bruising. But they are okay.”
Early evening, the local news aired the story, showing our Facebook pictures and playing part of the phone interview I had given. My crew back in California, even the fire chief, got calls from reporters. At one point, members of my department had heard news that I had actually died in the crash.
Matt, the engineer on my crew, texted me. “Hey, B. I just heard that your plane went down. What is going on?”
“We are okay. We are pretty busted up.”
“Hey, B. I am going to be your media person.”
“I need it real bad. I am already being bombarded. Don’t tell the media people anything but that we are alive and okay. That is it.”
Matt took it from there, notifying the department, even calling the chief. “They are in the hospital with some broken bones but all right.”
Firefighters were also mobilizing. Sometime after 8:00 p.m., a captain from Boise Fire stopped to see how I was doing. Taking Tabitha aside, he offered her the assistance of the Boise Fire Department, anything she or we needed. Housing. Transportation. Money. Food. They would be there for us. We really didn’t need a thing but were so grateful for the offer.
By 10:00 p.m., I was slipping into a fog, wanting sleep and relief, the morphine doing its work. Jamin’s dad, a firefighter himself, got everyone out, saying, “We have to get out of here. He needs to rest.” As the room emptied and the noise and clatter stilled to silence, my thoughts and unspoken words to God were my only companions.
Inside, I was overwhelmed with guilt as images of the last 24 hours vividly replayed in my mind. LIMA going down. Almost losing Jayann. Heather terrified and hurt. Cold. Bitter cold. Fear of how I was going to get us off that mountain. Why did I ever leave Rome Airport? Would I ever fly again? How could I have done this to my wife and daughters? To all of my family?
How do I sort this out, God?
We should have died. But we hadn’t.