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Chapter Two

The Sunbeam Lounge would quickly fill to capacity. It was elegantly decorated; the theme, of course, "A Mexican Holiday." Bottles of complimentary champagne were already uncorked and glasses were being filled. Tables of hors d'oeuvres, some kept warm, fondue style, were strategically placed to allow easy access. Many of the passengers were tossing party streamers in assorted colors and waving to friends standing on the outside upper level of the terminal. The air was filled with streamers, and the surface of the dock below was fast taking on a colorful, kaleidoscope-like design. There was laughing, joking, and an occasional hilarious scream. A happy atmosphere indeed.
It was traditional for the cruise line to take a souvenir photo of each passenger or couple before they boarded the ship.

Mrs. Bernice Chandler approached the photographer who was standing adjacent to the gangplank. In contrast to most of the casually dressed passengers, sixty-eight-year-old Mrs. Chandler wore an exquisite summer outfit. It had always been her practice to overdress for any social gathering or occasion. In the circles she traveled, it was customary to not only look one's best in all respects, but to silently compete with the other ladies, even though the suggestion of such would predictably draw an upturned nose.
Here, however, she was clearly out of her element. She spent four or five minutes primping and fixing her hair, hat, and dress while annoyed passengers looked on. Finally, the camera clicked and away she went, strutting across the gangplank.
Bernice's cabin boy, Juan, had already placed her luggage inside her stateroom. Although the closet and drawer space were designed to accommodate two people, there was hardly enough room for Mrs. Chandler's clothing. Having finished her unpacking, she laid on the bed to rest before exploring the ship.
Going alone on this trip at the spur of the moment was but another attempt to heal wounds of the past. It was her son, John Jr.'s, idea she get away. And to his surprise, this time she obliged.
Her mind, drifted back seven years. April 7, 1984 was the date. She and her beloved husband, were standing in the doorway of their luxurious mansion in Newport Beach.
"John-you be careful now," she remembered telling him. "I still don't like this idea of yours-traveling all the way to Canada just to go fishing."
Affectionately stroking her left cheek with his right hand, John confidently replied, "Don't worry your pretty little head, Bernie, these trips are quite safe you know. I'll meet you in Hawaii in ten days. We'll have a marvelous time."
"I love you, John."
"I love you too, Bernie."
John joined his two waiting friends and they pulled out of the driveway and drove down the winding road in-route to John Wayne Airport. Bernice watched as the last flicker of taillights disappeared in the early dawn. She left for Hawaii later that week.
It was 11:00 p.m., Hawaii time, when Bernice was awakened from a sound sleep. She sat erect in bed, trembling from chills running throughout her body. Her first thought was that she had contacted a flu virus. The trembling subsided and she felt a rush of calm flow through her. A cool breeze brushed her right cheek. She then experienced a few moments of emotional ecstasy and love that far surpassed the imaginable. With tears in her eyes, she walked over to check the balcony windows, thinking she would find the source of the breeze. The windows were tightly shut. This brief, un-worldly experience, as amazing and wonderful as it was, left her feeling confused and apprehensive. Unable to sleep the rest of the night, she arose early and drove from the hotel to Honolulu International Airport, arriving two hours early.
She stood nervously watching the parade of passengers deplane Flight 407 from Alaska. Three flight attendants followed what appeared to be the last passenger.
Approaching one of them she asked, "Excuse me Miss, are-are there any more people on the plane?"
"No, Ma'am, that's the last of them," replied the flight attendant.
"Are you sure?" Bernice's heart pounded, her knees weakened.
"Yes ma'am, I am sure. We were the last to leave."
Studying the monitor screen, Bernice discovered that Flight 407 was the only one from Alaska that day and there would be no further flights until tomorrow.
She impulsively directed herself to a phone across the terminal. In order to keep her wits about her while walking, she rationalized, 'he probably just missed the plane. I'll just call the emergency number he gave me, find out what the delay is and when he is coming in.'
However, as she reached the phone, a premonition of uneasiness stirred within and she knew that something was desperately wrong. Several attempts to produce an answer to her calls, failed. Upset, she was unable to drive, so took a taxi back to the hotel where she thought she could best compose herself before continuing her telecon search.
"Good morning, Alaska Resorts, can I help you?"
"Yes-yes. My name is Mrs. John Chandler. My husband was to arrive this morning in Honolulu on Flight 407 from Alaska and he wasn't on the plane. He had been on a fishing trip in Canada and this is the number he gave me to call in the event of an emergency."
There was a long pause. "Just a moment Mrs. Chandler, I am transferring your call."
Engulfed with fear, her heart pounded so fiercely she expected she may faint at any moment. But her concentration was directed to the silence, desperately hoping for words of assurance.
"Mrs. Chandler?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. Chandler, I am Alex Semore, President of Alaska Resorts. We have been trying to reach you at home for several hours. There is a problem regarding your husband. I don't want to unduly alarm you, but I must tell you the facts. The plane that your husband was traveling on from Canada to Alaska-ahhh-we have lost contact with it. Now this does happen from time to time due to adverse weather conditions and planes often find alternate airports."
"OK! OK!" she shouted impatiently, "Do you know anything more at all?"
"Only that our last contact was about midnight. That would have been about 11:00 p.m. in Hawaii.
After giving Mr. Semore the hotel number, she threw herself on the bed, unable, unwilling to restrain the rain of tears. She wanted to believe that everything was going to be alright, that this was just a bad dream she would awaken from in the morning, and that she and John would have their usual quiet breakfast in the nook before he departed for the office or Saturday morning golf.
Less than an hour passed and Bernice Chandler was still laying face down on the bed, her pillow soaked from tears, when the phone rang. Not to her surprise, Mr. Semore of Alaska Resorts confirmed her greatest fear. John's plane had crashed in a rugged mountain canyon only twenty minutes after takeoff in a weather-related accident and there were no survivors.
Numbness replaced Bernice's hysteria, yet somehow her sanity prevailed at this critical moment. And it was because John was aware of how his dear wife would react, that he had already interceded. She knew, albeit in a way she couldn't understand, that it had been John who was with her the night before when she was so abruptly awakened. He wanted her to know that he was alright and that he was near her.
Over the years, Bernice had known others, and also read accounts of people, who claimed to have had a similar experience of loved ones communicating with them after death. She was not a religious person, nor had she ever stepped into the arena of the mystical or metaphysical. However, she was always a willing listener to such accounts from friends and had read testimonies in books and magazines. She hadn't believed them though, and passed them off as symptoms of emotional reaction and media exploitation. But now, like so many others, she found herself believing that there is an unseen spiritual presence and she knew she would never be convinced to the contrary.
But she was still alone. And even though John was alright, she was not. Bernice Chandler was not alright at all!
The painful task of breaking the news to the children that their father was dead could not be delayed. They loved their father very much. They loved him as much life itself. They favored him over their mother, and it was OK, for there was enough of him to go around with no need to compete.
John was a good man, a shrewd businessman respected by all, including his fiercest competitors who actually envied him for his ability to do so well while maintaining the highest standards of ethics, honesty, and integrity. He was the stabilizing factor in the family, always knowing what to do in any given situation.
Bernice elected to call John Jr., break the news to him, and ask him to take over. She couldn't bear the thought of talking to her daughter Sarah. Not now anyway. Next to Bernice, Sarah would be the hardest hit.
Leaving most of her and John's belongings behind, she quickly left for the airport and caught the next flight home. As the giant 747 jet glided over the beautiful, green Pacific Ocean thirty-five thousand feet below, she concluded, in her grief, that she no longer had anything to live for, no reason to live. After the children left home, her fatuous social activities and John had been her whole life. She contemplated different methods of committing suicide.

Bernice was awakened from her trance by a persistent sharp knock on her stateroom door. "Ma'am, Ma'am, this is Juan, your cabin boy. Are you alright?"
Although annoyed at first, Bernice was relieved that her train of thought had been interrupted. "Yes-yes, I'm fine. What do you want?"
"I have something for you."
Bernice opened the door to see a dark complexioned lad holding a large vase of long-stemmed red roses, her favorite.
"These are for you Mrs. Chandler."
"Why thank you Juan," she said as she looked fondly at the young man. The card read, "Dear Mother, hope you have a wonderful time. With all our love, John Jr., Sarah, and families." 'How nice,' she thought as she rearranged the flowers, just for the sake of doing it. She set them on the dressing table to remind her that, despite their sometimes strained relationships, her children loved her. She placed her face close to the roses to gather in their fragrance. Then she picked up the picture of her and John that she had carefully placed at the other end of the dresser and held it close to her, shutting her eyes and caressing it and allowing herself to sense his presence.
Bernice Chandler's perception of reality was changing. And she was aware of it and could feel and accept it as intuitive knowingness. In the passage of time since John's death, she was slowly comprehending a divine truth: That the body may die but the soul lives on; the essence of John's love is a permanent part of her; it is incumbent upon her to live the rest of her life to the fullest; and, that it is not in her best interests to continually replay the incidents of that fateful day over and over again in her mind. From now on, she determined to control herself.
Feeling comforted by these thoughts, coupled with the flowers, Bernice decided to explore the ship.