From the air, the scene looked like chaos frozen in time—red and blue lights flashing in a wide arc around two twisted hulks of metal. Even from a few hundred feet up, I could tell it was serious. The road was littered with debris, the kind that tells you this wasn’t just a fender bender. Prom night, dispatch had said. I circled once before bringing the bird down in the clearing just off the shoulder, blades chopping the humid night air. I saw firefighters working fast, EMTs hunched over stretchers, and a pair of figures slumped in the wreckage who hadn’t moved since we got overhead. That’s when you know—it’s going to be a long flight for some, and no flight at all for others.
As soon as we touched down, the flight med crew jumped out, already moving toward a girl they’d flagged as critical. I stayed in the cockpit, running systems, eyes scanning the horizon but ears tuned to every word on the comms. You get used to flying into scenes like this, but you never get numb to the details—the glitter on the pavement, the torn tux jacket, the silence of the ones we don’t load. We lift off fast, smooth, doing everything we can to buy more time for the ones who still have a chance. But sometimes, even from the sky, you can feel the weight of what was lost down there.
Special occasions are for making memories. Take time beforehand to talk about
staying safe on the roads to ensure the memories are good.