“Hey, Mom. Are you up?” At six in the morning myeyes were just opening. When the phone rang that early, I would prepare myself for bad news. But it was my sweet son calling. “Hi, sweetheart. It's good to hear your voice. What's up?” I sat up preparing for a long conversation about something he needed help with. “I know what I'd like to do for my birthday.” Instantly, I was relieved it was not some trauma. “That's great. Twenty-one is a big year. What would you like to do?” “I'd like to jump out of a plane.” Images of my beautiful son tangled in a tree flickered in my imagination. “Really?” “Yes. With you.” “Oh! Ummm. Can't you find someone your own age to do that with?” I felt the immediate contraction of all my muscles along with the conflicting desire to support my son's passions. That's how it started. I jumped out of a plane with my son Isaiah at 7,000 feet at forty-nine years old. His idea was for us to face our fears together in celebration of his milestone birthday. As his mother, how could I refuse? The experience was intense, totally in present moment; and then it was gone. Part of me was stunned for a couple of hours despite my being totally functional. What did I do? What did I learn? It happened so fast that it seems as if it didn't really happen.But up we went. The clouds were low, but the sun was trying to break through. We arrived at the check in spot. It was our moment. At last. But oddly, I felt no fear, only excitement, which expressed itself in a smile. Yep, we are going. Out of gear boxes came gloves, red baron hats, and jumpsuits. We geared up. We got wide latched straps put onto our backs, through our legs and over our arms. The small plane pulled around. Our instructors went ovethe directions one more time: “Arch the back, cross the arms, head back, and do whatever I say for a slide or running landing. OK? Got that?” I stayed calm but happy. I stepped into the plane first,took a deep breath and exhaled with determination. My gut told me it would be OK. I sat between my instructor's lap, our legs straight out. He kept grabbing the shoulder straps and tugging them tighter. I felt like a toddler being lifted into a snuggly. Isaiah and his instructor came in next. It was tight, no extra room. The instructor rolled down the little canvas door. Isaiah asked the instructor lots of questions. Hazel eyes twinkling with excitement he wanted to know, how high we would go? How long would we be free falling? At what point does the parachute open? Just like when he was little. Lots of questions. The plane came off the runway and began its ascent. Beautiful. All the color clouds and light. The plane made several big upward circles. Still not scared. At six-thousand feet, my instructor snapped me to him. On went the goggles. The door was rolled up. We looked out over the canopy of the world. “Are you ready?” “Yup”. “Move up as soon as they are out.” “OK.” Then suddenly, they were gone. Over the top and we, with one great heave, were at the opening. “God, Shit. We are so high.” I stammered, my stomach tied in knots. Sudden terror and, I was out. The moment was like being catapulted straight down a mountain, head over heels. Hard. Cold air slapped me in one fell swoop. The free fall was fast, physical, terrifying. I imagined falling to my death. Then, something flew out of my instructors back. Oh my God, the plane fell away. The chute opened and everything went still. We were motionless, floating so high in heaven. There was no sound, wind, or motion. This is what it must feel like to be out of my body. Just awareness. It was extraordinary. ‘Hey, how are you doing?” called a voice from behind me. “OK, but I can't feel my legs.” “The straps just stopped your circulation. Put your feet on mine and try to stand up.” The world began to move again as we got closer to the ground. We were headed right over the highway and the wind was trying to hold us back. “I'm going to have to spin us outta here. Get ready.” My stomach lurched. Every cell in me was trying to distance myself from a sense of trauma. And great resolve not to die. We spun, top speed, whirling in the sky and dropping fast. ‘'I'm gonna throw up!” Then, we were free floating again. We cleared the highway. The ground came at me like a train head on. My instructor yelled for me to put my hands under my knees and hold my feet up. “We're gonna slide in. When I say so, just sit.”. “I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die,” I screamed. But then, miraculously, I was on my heels and butt, sliding to a halt. Grounded. Done. What all just transpired? We unhitched our gear. I couldn't speak. But I scanned the area for my son. He was taking off his gear, chatting joyously with the instructor. ‘How was your freefall, Isaiah? I was terrified for a moment.” I said. ‘Mom, I'm used to it from jumping off of bridges into the river.” I just stared at him in disbelief. Now, when I am told I must be out of my mind, I know what that must feel like.