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Jackie Nink Pflug, with Peter J. Kisilos, Hazelden Publishing (page 1 of 11) Page 1 of 11
My grateful journey back from the hijacking of EgyptAir Flight 648
On Thanksgiving weekend in November 1985, Jackie Nink Pflug was a passenger on EgyptAir Flight 648 en route from Athens to Cairo when it was hijacked shortly after takeoff. After the plane landed in Malta, millions watched in horror as the hijackers singled out Israeli and American citizens for execution. Early on Sunday, Jackie was shot in the head at point-blank range, pushed out of the plane, and left for dead on the tarmac.
The hijacking was just the beginning of Jackie’s remarkable journey. In the months and years ahead, she would wage a valiant struggle to cope with her brain injury and resulting epilepsy, post-traumatic stress disorder, and depression.
This is an excerpt from her memoir, Miles to Go Before I Sleep: My Grateful Journey Back form the Hijacking of EgyptAir Flight 648.
Chapter 3: God, I Need This Rain to Stop
A bang, a flash, and down I went. It all happened so fast. Tumbling and floating, floating and tumbling. I was moving in a slow motion haze. It felt as if a massive surge of electricity was jolting through my skull. Splashes of light and color, a strange feeling of heaviness, a hazy numbness. It felt as though my eyes were pushed into the back of my head.
Then I was going down, down, down — into what?
I never heard the sound of my body crashing down the metal staircase like I had when the passengers before me were shot, but I knew I was falling.
Then it stopped.
Where am I? Is this heaven? Is heaven hard?
I was lying on a gray slab of concrete. I didn’t feel anything as I fell twenty-five feet down the metal stairs onto the tarmac. Yet I was still conscious when my head hit the ground.
I don’t know how much time went by, but I eventually opened my eyes — ever so slowly. I looked up and saw white, puffy clouds. I thought, How strange this is all happening on such a beautiful day.
Then I quickly shut my eyes again. I’m not dead, am I? How could this be? Am I hurt? How bad? I don’t know.
I was disappointed to find myself still on earth. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. I hadn’t slept for so long, keenly aware that each hour might be my last.
I’m so tired. I thought this was going to be over. I just want to sleep. How much longer do I have to hang on?
I was sprawled facedown on the airport tarmac in Malta with a bullet in my head, my blood slowly draining onto the cement. My head was facing left, my left arm was under my chest, and my right arm was free and extended over my head. I was lying with my head sideways, at the foot of the metal staircase, so I could see the wheel of the plane through one eye. I felt a dull ache in my head and heard an irritating, high-pitched sound coming from the plane.
The first thing I had to do was keep myself from swallowing my tongue, because I kept trying to do that. I had to pee real bad, too. On the plane, I had decided it was just too risky to ask the hijackers for permission to use the bathroom. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Yet I was afraid the hijackers might notice the wet spot on my pants and the concrete and realize that I was still alive. I had to risk it. . . .
Stay calm, just stay calm. Think. That’s right, think. What do I do? Don’t move. Whatever you do, don’t move. Remember what happened to the Israeli woman. She moved, and she’s dead.
Bang! Bang! Bang! One of the hijackers had pumped her quivering body full of lead. The metallic ring still echoed in my ears.
Keep your head down on the cement. Don’t look up. Play dead and you’ll live. Keep calm. Keep perfectly still. Don’t move a muscle. Shallow breaths. Stay cool.
I was grateful that I was wearing an extra-large sized T-shirt. It meant that the hijackers couldn’t tell my chest was moving while I breathed in and out.
My body was shutting down, my mind starting to fade. I was slipping away. The bullet in my head must have gone in too deep. I wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t focus or think straight. I was losing control. Thoughts were drifting by.
For the next few hours I kept passing in and out of consciousness and sleep. I was so tired. Every time I came to, I expected to wake up in a new world. My thoughts were Okay, God, you can take me. I’m ready to go.
The next thing I knew, a bright whiteness was all around me. It was my paternal grandmother, Grandma Nora Nink. I didn’t speak. She was a whiteness to me, but I knew it was her. Grandma didn’t use earth words to communicate, but I knew what she was saying. “Come, Jackie. It’s time.” She was calling me to join her. As she did, I felt my spirit leaving my body. I saw my body lying facedown on the tarmac. The roaring jet engines were suddenly silent.
Grandma Nink was one of the people I most loved and looked up to in the world. Grandma was a small, thin-boned, German woman. Her head was slightly bent from osteoporosis, but her eyes sparkled with life. She was lots of fun to be with. She was so calm and patient with me. That made a real difference. At home, I always felt jumpy and nervous, afraid of spilling milk or knocking things over. Mom always said I was accident prone.
When I was with Grandma, I didn’t get that jittery feeling. I settled down. I wasn’t afraid of making mistakes. I loved helping Grandma cook. She patiently showed me how to do things such as cut cucumbers with a big kitchen knife. And she didn’t hover over me while I learned. She showed me how to do one cucumber, then let me do the rest.
I was so sad when she died, two years ago, at the age of ninety-three. But when she died, I wasn’t worried. I knew she was going to a beautiful place.
Now, we were together again. . . .
Grandma and I were pure spirits without bodies. She was a whiteness to me. I moved toward her. I felt the edge of our spirits softly merge, as if we were touching fingertips. The two of us gently floated through a long dark passage — like a tunnel — toward a shimmering bright light. I knew what was happening: I was leaving earth.
It feels so good being here, in the light, with Grandma. I was so sad when she died. Now I know she is okay. I want to go with her.
Excerpted from Miles to Go Before I Sleep by Jackie Nink Pflug, with Peter J. Kisilos, published by Hazelden Publishing, www.hazelden.org. Copyright © 1996 by Hazelden Foundation. Used with permision. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission from the publisher. To learn more about the author, go to: www.jackiepflug.com.
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