But, of course...

Why pick a metaphor of a plane that does not land...that cannot land?  If only it landed, then all my family would be happy, and I would pay off my debt -- the guilt that has been handed down to me across three generations.

But it does not land; it cannot land.

If only you just land that plane, just come down to Earth, everything will be okay.  But that's exactly what it cannot do.  You don't accept the trauma of the husband and the father lost at sea.  You think it can't be real. The plane he was in is still flying somehow.  It is searching and looking for a place to land.   That's all it has to do to turn portending disaster into acceptable reality.   It is still up there, many years after World War 2, and we are still waiting to hear that the occupants have been found safe and well.

But it doesn't land and so the span of inter-generational trauma is extended.

This all sounds far-fetched, but we are all waiting for something, some notification that has arrived but hasn't been accepted.

It is better not to arrive if one is to arrive dead.   Better to keep flying from one generation to the next.  Each generation holds a candle then, and waits for the notification which one day must arrive.  That is the feared day when the one who is beloved is pronounced dead -- and everything shatters.

But it will not shatter if the plane doesn't land  -- and if we can keep everything up in the air, we will never hear bad news that shatters us.

So, keep everything uncertain and unclear and don't speak about what you know.  We are all waiting.  Our prolonged wait is to avoid hearing what you have to say.   We're tired of hearing it already, so hush up.

And so the ghost plane glides through misty air, as we, throughout the generations, keep it buoyant.
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