It was the fall of 1989. My health was in decline in some weird
way, but I didn’t know anything beyond that. Whatever was going on, all I knew
was that it was having a dramatic effect on my day-to-day activity.
I was constantly dehydrated and unable to do anything, including
sleep, for more than an hour at a time; an hour was about the maximum amount of
time before I would require huge amounts of water to rehydrate, and by that time
I would also urgently have to go to the bathroom. So I adjusted, slipping out
of ninety minute lectures, avoiding two hour events, sleeping in short
stretches.
At the time I was a student pilot, taking flights through U of I’s Institute of Aviation that would last much more than an hour. Flying was exhilarating, but by the end of a long flight, my back teeth were floating. Finally, around Thanksgiving, I knew I would have to let the administrators know that I couldn’t continue with the program.
At the time I was a student pilot, taking flights through U of I’s Institute of Aviation that would last much more than an hour. Flying was exhilarating, but by the end of a long flight, my back teeth were floating. Finally, around Thanksgiving, I knew I would have to let the administrators know that I couldn’t continue with the program.
Some of the people I talked to tried to encourage me to stick it
out, but there was no way: flying was a path I had to be focused on, and health
issues were taking me out of that focus and off that path. I was enamored with
flying, but I had to do the right thing and at least postpone my passion until I
could figure out what was inhibiting my progress.
The administrators agreed to let me drop the existing coursework
with them and to put my progress on hold until further notice. But they also
told me that I had 14 hours of flight time that had already been paid for, and
that I could coordinate with my instructor as to how to make use of those
hours.
My instructor and I agreed that the remainder of the paid flight
time could be cut in half by letting me fly a dual-engine plane. Up to that
point, I had only been flying single engine planes, so I was excited about the
prospects. My instructor planned out a seven-hour flight with enough stops
along the way so I could deal with my dehydration issues. He would handle most
of the take-off and landing with the twin-engine, and allow me plenty of time to
control the plane while we were in flight.
The flight was scheduled for early December, long enough before
winter break so it wouldn’t affect other school activities and end of semester
requirements. One of my instructor’s friends joined us and the three of us took
off from Champaign and flew up to Meig’s Field in Chicago, right next to the
Adler Planetarium and Shedd Aquarium. The wind was blowing north so we had to
land heading south. It was late in the day, the wintry air was crisp and clear,
and the lights of the buildings in the Chicago skyscape were starting to shine
brightly as the sky was darkening and the sun was disappearing below the western
horizon. It was the most beautiful impression I’ve ever had of Chicago, which I
had already regarded as one of the most beautiful big cities in the
world.
We dropped my instructor’s buddy off at Meig’s Field and continued
on to Green Bay, Wisconsin. I made sure to empty out and refill my water bottle
to sip for the trip along the way. In Green Bay, we stopped at the airport,
refueled, and then flew to Rhinelander, Wisconsin. This required flying over
parts of the Nicollet National Forest in the northern part of Wisconsin.
It was a clear night and the moon was nearly full. The ground was
covered in a blanket of snow, and the moon cast a distinct shadow of each tree
in the snow. Our altitude was low enough to see this clearly, and seeing this
beautiful moonlit wilderness just hours after seeing Chicago starting to light
up in the winter dusk was phenomenal! This contrast and the way that nature
played into it struck me very clearly as a heavenly sight; I did not have the
words at the time, but I was receiving a taste of heaven. That taste would fill
my mind and spirit and stay with me indelibly.
After Rhinelander, we flew back to Midway Airport in Chicago, where
we picked up my instructor’s buddy, and then we proceeded back to Champaign. I
haven’t been able to fly since, but the beauty I experienced that afternoon
night captivated me and has stayed with me ever since. My mind, my heart and
soul were shaped that day and it felt like my needs and desires had been fully
met. Even if I had been able to keep flying, I don’t know if I could have a
more incredible flight experience than this!
Joshua Paul Lamken: hero of a father to Lena Tilo and Andrea, stalwart of a
brother to Jon Dan and Anne, dutiful son and stepson to Marilyn and Dick, and
also nephew, uncle, cousin, coworker, colleague and friend extraordinaire to
many: having journeyed from Minnesota to Chicago, Park Ridge to Champaign, Meigs
Field to Rhinelander, Lombard to Columbus, and having been, with a shrug and a
Prost, a 27 year cancer survivor, Joshua taught us along the way and taught us
well that life is to be lived, every day is a gift and Emmanuel is a blessing.
Now, Joshua, you are, as you have always been, with God.
