I had no idea then that I was closer to finding him than I’d ever been before.
Could I really give up searching for him?
A few hours into the flight, I heard a sharp bang from the first-class cabin right behind us.
My heart rate spiked instantly.
“What on earth?”
Mark glanced over his shoulder.
The cockpit door burst open, and one of our flight attendants, Sarah, rushed in. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with panic.
“Now, Robert! We need you!” she gasped. “A man’s in trouble. He’s dying!”
My heart rate spiked instantly.
I didn’t hesitate.
Mark took the controls, nodding to me. During my training, I had been the best in my class at first aid. I knew every procedure by heart. We couldn’t waste a single second.
I sprinted into the cabin.
A man was on the floor in the aisle. He was gasping for air, clawing at his throat, and his body was shaking. People were standing up in their seats, whispering and pointing.
I dropped to my knees beside him.
We couldn’t waste a single second.
“Move back!” I told the onlookers.
“Give him some space!”
I grabbed his shoulders to steady him, and that’s when I spotted the birthmark stretched across one side of his face.
My brain stalled for a fraction of a second, but my training kicked in.
I got behind him and pulled him up into a sitting position. I locked my arms around his waist and started the Heimlich maneuver.
One thrust. Nothing.
My brain stalled for a fraction of a second.
The man’s grip on my arms was weakening. He was slipping away.
Two thrusts. Still nothing.
“Come on, man! Come on!”
I gave it everything I had on the third thrust. I drove my fist into his abdomen with all my strength.
Suddenly, a small, hard object flew out of his mouth and bounced off the carpet.
The man slumped forward, drawing in a ragged, whistling breath.
I gave it everything I had.
He coughed violently, his chest heaving as air finally flooded his lungs.
The cabin erupted. People were clapping and cheering.
Someone yelled, “Way to go, Captain!”
I didn’t hear any of it. The noise of the engines and the applause faded into a dull hum. I was staring at the man as he turned toward me.
There was no doubt about it: this was the man from my photograph.
“Dad?” I whispered.
People were clapping and cheering.
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
It felt heavy and strange in my mouth. I had practiced saying it a thousand times in front of a mirror, but I never thought I would say it to a real person.
The man looked at my uniform, then up at my face. He shook his head.
“No, I’m not your father.”
I felt like I had been punched in the gut.
“But,” the man added quietly, “I know exactly who you are, Robert. That’s why I’m on your flight.”
Leave a Comment