January 30, 2025: The Hollow Book

As a kid, I had a hollow book on my shelf. From the outside, it looked like any other novel, but inside was a hidden compartment where I stashed my treasures: cool bottle caps, dog-eared baseball cards, a few quarters.

I like to think I have a similar place in my mind. A quiet nook behind a cover titled, On The Other Side. In that deep, secret area, I store the questions too big for answers in this life, the mysteries I can only hope to understand once I step into the great by and by.

Yesterday, I added some new contents. It involves the tragic crash last night of a commercial jet and a military helicopter in D.C. No one survived.

And then there’s this: Jess has a first cousin whose wife is an American Airlines attendant. She was scheduled to work that flight but called out sick before her shift.

Ok, my frontal lobe just melted. How is that explained?

Of all days, of all flights, she felt too ill to go. And her life was spared. Was it chance? A thread in some unseen matrix? And why does the pattern always seem to weave tragedy for some and a narrow escape for others?

Sigh.

On the other side.