Today couldn't have ended a moment too soon, although if it's at all like yesterday, it may not be over yet. I'm exhausted and I can't imagine how emergency crews are still functioning. Some of them have been going for two days straight and I've seen the same guys at calls day after day.
Today about 11:30 a.m., plane full of would-be hunters from Georgia fell out of the sky into a yard at a subdivision near the airport. Theories abound as to why -- it was foggy and icy at that time, the pilot misjudged his first approach and may have caused the plane to stall as he pulled up -- either way, the plane slammed near dead on into the ground in the front yard of a home where a woman sat doing her taxes. No trees were clipped. No homes were damaged. All six men on board died instantly.
In just over a week I've been to the scenes of eight deaths. Men ranging from a 40-year-old construction worker having a beer on his way home after work and losing control of his pickup so that he slammed head-on into a mini-van loaded with travelers (who thankfully weren't hurt) to a guy my father's age (68) whose pickup was struck by a tractor-trailer that lost its brakes coming down Lowgap Mountain, and now six men of unknown ages and abilities that I've been getting to know through Internet postings as community and business leaders. I feel like I need my spirit cleansed, as though bits of their souls, disrupted from their voyage through life, had attached themselves to mine. In between, we had a man struck while trying to catch a runaway dog on a rural road (he survived, the dog was killed) and a chemical spill.
I missed the dog incident, but otherwise I've climbed the roadbanks, stood in the cold, and waded the water with the rescue workers. I also had the luxury of not handling the bodies and going home to bed while they were still dealing with a toxic chemical last night. Now I'm blogging on the couch while the rescuers are, quite possibly, sorting through the wreckage for more remains, so I guess I shouldn't complain. And I'm not, really. Sometimes a long string of days like these makes me question my career choice: did I really have to be a newspaper reporter? Then again, I have the comfort of knowing I talked my editor out of using the photo that I could plainly see a man's hand in, I kept the trust and respect of the professionals and volunteers working the scenes, and I didn't cause unnecessary harm to do my job. More than I can say for some of my peers.
I'm glad I'm home now with the police scanner quiet in a corner. Hopefully, it will stay that way. I think we've had enough.
