On November 1, 2026, a privately owned Learjet crashed in Palm Beach County, Florida. The plane was traveling from Texas to the Bahamas when it went into a high-speed descent, killing all nine people on board.
The radio transmission between air traffic control and the plane’s co-pilot, 20-year-old Nathalia Filgueiras, is difficult to listen to. Even as the aircraft plunged toward the ground, Nathalia remained remarkably composed and professional, relaying critical information to air traffic controllers. Her voice carried urgency and distress, but she never seemed to lose her focus.
“Mayday, mayday, we’re descending 10,000 feet per minute,” she reported. Seconds later, the descent had accelerated to 20,000 feet per minute. Meanwhile, the pilot, 55-year-old Jeff Gregory, can be heard praying the Lord’s Prayer as Nathalia continues communicating with the ground.
“Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”
The transmission ends after Nathalia said, “we’re out of time.” The aircraft crashed moments later. There were no survivors.
On that same day, another life was unexpectedly cut short.
Twenty-four-year-old Rachel Apa was running the New York City Marathon when she collapsed near Mile 24. She never made it to the finish line. Rachel was an athlete, a young woman who appeared to be in excellent health. From the outside, she seemed invincible. During the race, she was sending her dad short text messages to let him know how she was doing.
“I feel amazing,” she wrote, crediting her pre-race carb-loading. “I’ve never felt this good.”
Her dad’s response sounded like me. “Great, don’t overdo it. First marathon. This is a learning run. Don’t overdo it.” As a girl dad with a daughter who loves to run, this one hit close to home. I know the pride he must have felt. I know how much he looked forward to more texts, more conversations and more finish lines.
These stories affect me differently now than they might have 20 or 30 years ago. Maybe turning 60 has something to do with it. I have become more aware of time and how quickly everything can change. Today, I find myself mourning the loss of two young ladies I never knew. I think about their families, all of the moments that were still to come, the milestones that will never be.
And I too ask, “Why God?”
I also believe a life isn’t measured only by how many years someone gets. Nathalia’s composure in an unimaginable moment. Rachel’s determination to pursue something she loved and honor someone she loved. Their stories remind me that a life can leave an impression far beyond its length.
I don’t want to become preoccupied with how little time I might have. I want to love louder. Appreciate deeper. At 60, I know there are more chapters behind me than ahead. I don’t say that with fear or resignation. I say it with gratitude, a little more perspective and a deeper appreciation for the ordinary moments that make up a life.
We’re out of time. All of us, eventually.
Maybe the point isn’t to live afraid of that reality. Maybe it’s to live awake to it.
