Loss of Separation

If you're me, when you see news like this Convair 580 crash in British Columbia, you are sad for the pilots and their families, and you hope that your friend wasn't on board. You don't wait for the names to be released, but talk to whom you must to find out enough about the deceased to rule out anyone you know who works for the company. And then you're glad because your friend is alive, and tell him so. And then you are sad for your friend, who has lost beloved colleagues, but still glad because he is alive and well. And then you discover that someone else you know has not been so lucky as to have her friend not be on board that airplane. You feel a little guilty for a moment, until you remind yourself that a burned out cockpit and unreleased crew names is not a Schrödinger's box, with a waveform that will collapse according to who hopes hardest. It's happened. So you are sad for the other friend, and for the pilot you did not know, who was her friend, and for the dead pilots you did not know, and for the other pilots you did know, who did not survive earlier days. And then you shed a few tears without being completely sure whom they are for. And then you check the weather and NOTAMs and go to work. And that's what you do, if you're me.

Everyone fly safe, please.