The story of this missing plane just keeps getting stranger. It’s interesting to me to watch how surprised people are that we do not yet have answers. How shocked people are that it remains a mystery even in the face of technology and manpower. We like to read mysteries, not live them. We crave the information that can fit the pieces of the puzzle.
I caught part of an interview yesterday with the wife of one of the passengers. I ached for her. She is caught in limbo, understanding that most likely, she will never see her husband again yet also lacking the concrete information that lets her begin to grieve.The questions, the mystery keep her anchored in maybe. And that’s a horrible place to live.
I know. I lived there myself for a few days. Yes, I had a text and a typed letter when my ex left, but I no information. What he left was worthless, gave no real answers. All I knew was that one moment, I had a husband who said he loved me and couldn’t wait for me to get home and the next, I had a brief electronic communication saying he was gone. Disappeared.
For the first twenty-four hours, I had no information. I didn’t know if he was alive or if the letter was really a suicide note. My mind raced, trying on different scenarios for fit. In some, in walked back in the door and explained it was all a mistake. In others, his body was found in a motel. I couldn’t rest. I needed to know.
As with most mysteries, information dribbled in. I learned that all the money was gone. I found proof of another woman. Then, I figured out what state he was in. That was the point where I first filed for divorce (less than a week after the text). The first go-round, the plan was to file by publication because his true location was still unknown.
And I was still restless. I knew some things, but I still didn’t understand why. And then I learned about Uganda and found some more answers. And then the bigamy, which answered some things and raised more. I was dogged. Determined. I needed to know. I searched for information with the same desperate urge as preteen reading the battle scene in the final Harry Potter. I could not stop turning pages even knowing that I may not like what I would learn.
In the end, that search provided the pieces that I fit into the puzzle years later. I still don’t know if I built it correctly. And I never really will. That search cost me, in terms of additional money spent for the divorce and in time spent playing Sherlock Holmes.
But, when I saw the face of that poor woman on TV last night, it’s a cost I’m glad I spent.
If it was still a mystery, I would always be wondering.
At least now I know. And I can lay it to rest.
I hope that the families of the passengers on the missing place find answers soon so that then they can work on finding peace.