If only . . .

If is such a wickedly precarious word. If is an anomaly of diction in that it is neither here nor there, and yet it elicits a gamut of emotions. For this story, If is a heart wrenching tale of what might have been . . . if only.

If only he had waited. It wasn’t his style, to wait around. Not having known him, I can only hazard a guess this impatience came from having been born into royalty, where life was oftentimes lived inside a giant goldfish bowl for all the world to see. I can’t help wondering if sometimes the kid wished he could have been anyone other than himself. The whole world considered him silver spoon lucky; with all the looks and chances and girls. Perspective tells me his restless soul was desperately looking for his true north. All that money and family history, all those primo jobs and runway models made him a modern day Marco Polo, but it didn’t make him whole.

He’d just had his cast removed the day before. No doubt his ankle was talking back to him, and who’s to know if this compromised his ability to fly that little plane. The one thing that is certain is that the weather wasn’t doing him any favors that night. In the days after, his fellow pilots would mournfully remark at how the conditions were abysmal, and how John should have waited. It didn’t help that he got a late start since the girls were running late that evening. So instead of making the trip with the sun riding shotgun, he had to rely on his instruments. John hadn’t flown solo in a couple months, didn’t have an instrument rating and had precious few hours of night flying under his belt. Add to this the fact he had just upgraded to a Piper Saratoga and was still familiarizing himself with it. He turned down a flight instructor’s offer to accompany him and he decided against having Carolyn provide some navigational skills even though she had done it before. When you add it all up, John was playing with the fates that night. And Lord knows the fates hadn’t been kind to his family.

John was tired but giddy on the day of the flight. He’d taken in a Yankees game the night before, after which he went out with friends for drinks. He showed up to the offices wired. When asked about his final hours, many of his work pals talked about how he had roamed the hallways, making small talk and waiting for the day to be done so he could fly out of town with his wife and sister in law.

He wanted to be with family. The handsome man about town was more grounded than most outsiders ever knew, and family was everything to him. They afforded him a peace that had become increasingly difficult to find inside his stormy personal life. Things with Carolyn weren’t ideal, and the magazine had fallen on hard times. He probably saw the weekend as a respite, an opportunity to decompress and recharge his batteries.

John was big on keeping his promises. It was something he learned from his political lion of an uncle. It was something that had been ingrained in him by a strong mother who had experienced unbearable grief and who had come back stronger. Jacqueline raised her celebrity children to be human beings who understood the world around them and yearned to give back rather than simply take. John and Caroline were the offspring of a historical icon and a mother whose grace and strength ran through their veins.

He had promised his sister that he would serve as representative to their side of the family at his cousin’s wedding in Hyannis Port since she was vacationing with her own family and wouldn’t be able to make it. His first stop would be Martha’s Vineyard to drop off his sister in law, Lauren. It had been another promise, this one to his wife.

All those promises would be lost inside the miles when his Piper disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean. Network coverage of the search and rescue mission was a painfully desperate thing to witness, as shock turned to fear turned to horrible reality. When the news finally came down, I sobbed. It felt as if the fates had conspired to thieve a family seal once again. As the years passed and the world changed dramatically, I couldn’t help but wonder if this theft went deeper still.

If . . . John flew into Martha’s Vineyard the next morning on the advice of his fellow pilots, he would have found his career at a crossroads. There were rumors that John had been mulling a run for the New York senate seat in 2000. Maybe a long weekend with family would have convinced him to throw his hat in the ring. Win or lose, perhaps John would have found himself in the doing. And who knows from there?

This is to say nothing of what JFK Jr. might have accomplished in the wake of September 11th. He was the Prince of New York, and I can’t help but believe his activism would have been felt everywhere: from the halls of Congress to the other side of the world. Might the events of that day have spurred him into the biggest of big picture outlooks? Might he have come to understand what his legacy could mean inside the worst of times? 

If . . he had waited to fly out the next morning, maybe the Senator from New York would have thrown his hat in the ring in 2016. And maybe he would have scored the democratic nomination. And maybe he would have made the pompous and bombastic billionaire with the bad hair look small in three televised debates. 

If all that came to pass . . the political slogan could have read “Make America Believe in Camelot Again”

If only . . .

The following is part of the “If” Challenge 2018 that was constructed by the inimitable composer of all things humor and music at A Frank Angle. His blog is a righteous tilt, so go on over and give it a whirl. 

49 thoughts on “If only . . .

  1. That was absolutely brilliant. From the second paragraph I was certain you were talking about John and that horrible night. If only, indeed.
    Beautifully done!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Cheers to an angle on IF that wasn’t encountered. I like the way you hide his identity at the beginning, but brought forth hints bit by bit … and then to turn it into commentary … BINGO! Well done, Marc!

    Liked by 1 person

    • E R,

      Thank you. It felt personal to me when it happened. As if it was a tragedy we all shared, and a theft we might always look back on with questions of “What If?”.
      It still feels that way when I think back on it.

      Thank you for this lovely comment.


      Liked by 1 person

  3. I loved this. This was what Dale was talking about to me yesterday. I’m always a beat late. It’s really remarkable If Only, is the name of your piece and I wrote that to you. John must be working those strings alright. I’m glad I’m not the only one moved enough to write about him. My piece tanked. No one cares. Well, we do, and did and will no matter how much time passes. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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