Freedom.

In the days leading up to my skydiving adventure, I had pictured myself jumping feet first out of the plane, charging almost, William-Wallace-style. "Freedom!"

In reality, I could yell nothing. The wind hit my face at such an alarming fast pace that I felt as though I was stuck inside an air conditioner. I wanted to look at my instructor, Mario, and tell him to turn back, but I had made a commitment. My altimeter said 13,000 feet and there was nowhere to go but down. I was going down headfirst.

I had not been nervous the entire day. I had seen other divers take off and land. I had met two lawyers, a cop, and a middle school English teacher. All of them jumped out of planes every weekend and obviously lived to tell about it, so why did I need to be concerned?

From the moment I walked in to Skydive Orange I felt completely at ease. I had been concerned beforehand that the people there would only see my disability and not my potential. My concern couldn't have been less warranted. When I walked in, first person I saw was a man in a wheelchair assembling the day's schedule. All the staff were courteous to me, and no one ever told me that I could not dive. I had done my research beforehand so I knew that it was possible, but sometimes a bad attitude can render even the simplest of tasks impossible. No one at Skydive Orange was anything but positive. From the 60-year-old hippies who were packing the parachutes barefoot on a wrestling mat in the middle of the chaos of divers, to the administrative professional who checked me in and wished me a happy birthday when I handed her my ID, everyone around me exuded positivity and fun.

 I had built this experience up in my head for months.  I wanted to know what it felt like to soar through the sky. I wanted to experience the complete freedom of the free fall. I wanted to see the earth that God has made from the best seat in the house.

Thanks to my good friends, Chris and Jennifer Harper, I was able to do that. They had driven into Fairfax to pick me up and made the 70 mile trek to Orange, Virginia. I was supposed to dive at 2 PM, so Chris, Jennifer, and their kids, Harley, Seth, and Callen (a.k.a. the most well-behaved baby in the world) made sure I was there at 12, so that I could have enough time to suit up and train for my jump.

When we arrived, I was informed that there was a wind delay. No tandem divers were being allowed to jump until the winds died down. And so we waited.

And waited...

and waited...

and waited...

During the downtime, one of the most memorable characters I met was a lawyer who used to be a police officer. To pass the time and lighten my mood, he told me a story of the craziest house call he had ever received. A woman had called the cops because she was literally stuck on her toilet. I’ll spare you the details, but it was the most crazy, colorful thing I've heard in a while.

Eventually I heard my name called over the loud speaker. It was time for ground training, which consisted of a 15 minute class, the essentials of which were:

1)      Skydiving is dangerous.

2)      Safety is important.

3)      Do not walk into the plane propellers.

It all seemed pretty straightforward, but I am evidence that they will let anyone jump out of a plane these days, so it was necessary. I was then placed into groups with a woman named Robin, who was jumping for her 50th birthday. We regrouped with Taylor, a recent high school grad, and her mother. We chit chatted and waited for our instructors to meet us and suit up.

Once Robin's instructor came to find her, I glanced up at the schedule board and noticed that I had been moved into the next group. "Maybe the plane was full,” I thought. I let it go. I watched Robin and her friends go up into the sky and come down, elated.

Next, I watched a group of Asian-American kids, who looked no more than 18, take my spot in line. I began to get perturbed. "What is going on?" At this point, I glanced at the board and I was on a plane all by myself." That can't be right!"  I was looking around for someone with authority to speak to, but everyone I needed was up in the air.

A young man in a blue shirt approached me and said, "Are you Jess? It's time to get dressed."

This just got real.

Before I knew it, two people were helping me dress, and I was being outfitted in a purple suit and a horrible, wedgie-inducing black harness. I met my instructor Mario, who was almost 6'4". We practiced with the harness, and he lifted me off the ground several times while making some slight adjustments for comfort.

We got a 10 minute call and I waddled toward the plane. I begged my videographer, Lambert, not to film that part. An entourage of about seven people loaded me onto the plane. I could have walked up the steps myself, but my crowd surfing entrance into the plane garnered hugs and encouragement from other divers and staff.

As we taxied the runway, I met the stunt divers with whom I was jumping. They were fist-bumping me, and the guy next to me handed a mint and said, "You're going to need this, because your mouth is going to go immediately dry at the door of the plane."

Boy, was he right! As Mario and I scooted toward the door of the plane, I felt the force of the wind sucking me out. I couldn't breathe. My feet dangled over the edge of the door. I looked down and could see nothing but blue and fog and my certain impending death.

We rocked once. Twice. And then, the fall. I don't remember much. White noise. Fear. Excitement.  Mouth-breathing. 

The first parachute deployed. We were still falling, but the fall slowed, and I finally felt I could breathe-at least a little. We were flying around in the air Superman-style, and I was trying to look cute for Lambert, who was videotaping the whole thing. He kept reaching his hand out for me but I was too scared to do anything but keep my hands in the safety position that I had learned during training.

Suddenly I felt a jerk at my harness, and I was standing straight up in the air, or so it felt. My first glimpse of the view in front of me made me instantly grateful that I had been forced to wait until the last jump of the day. The purple, blue, and orange sunset was stealing the sky above the Blue Ridge Mountains with a gorgeous stealth. There are really no words to describe how beautiful Earth looks from that altitude, especially when your vantage is not marred by the glass of a plane window. To be honest, it's probably one of the moments that I have felt the closest to God. I teared up several times as we were approaching the ground, thinking that I wasn't worthy of such an amazing experience. I must have thanked Mario 10 times, even before we landed.

When we landed I was greeted by a chorus of happy birthday. I had not made a big deal out of the day, and hadn't even told Lambert, so I have no idea how everyone knew. It was an amazing end to an amazing day. When we were walking out of the shelter that night, several of the divers, including Mario, told me to come back next year for another birthday celebration. I have no doubt they meant it. Unless, of course, Mario and I go diving with sharks...