Juliett Novemah: A Memoir

Foreword

Foreward by Alena Leikela

I was perusing a subreddit about Aviation accidents, specifically more of the less well-known tragedies, involving smaller aircraft and less casualties. It is human nature to look at things by the degree of severity, to accept any kind of hierarchy until you are forced to usurp it. To compare, to contrast.

To most, ten deaths isn't as horrible as two-hundred deaths. But when you have experienced first-hand the grief of losing someone unfairly, any amount of life becomes precious. The hurt does not waver any degree regarding the number of lives or lives lost. I cannot begin to comprehend the crushing weight borne by the families of these unfortunate souls. 

Similarly, when we think of Airplanes, we imagine big jets soaring into the skies, carrying passengers off to exotic vacations we can't even dream of affording. We think of men in suits, screaming children, loud engine roars. We think of lawsuits and not enough leg room. We do not think of humble beginnings, propellers, and a dream that went horribly wrong.

On a rainy, Sunday afternoon, three hours deep into writer's block, I discovered the following post:

My name is Natalie Novembah. My daughter, Juliett Novembah, was 23 years old and a private pilot. She was in between jobs and was trying to apply for different positions that involved ferrying planes. This would have taken her to the Continental United States. Her father Jack (also a pilot of large Airliners) and I were trying to wrap our heads around the fact that we might not see our daughter for months at a time. Even though they were both pilots, the timing would be dicey of when she could come home to visit. Little did we know that we'd never see her again. On March 18th, just two days after her 23rd birthday, our angel would gain a pair of real wings. Our daughter went down with a rental plane, and hours later, we discovered even worse news: she had taken the plane down on purpose. My beautiful Angel, who was always destined to fly, killed herself.

We live in such a remote part of the world, it seems, that it was kept very private, and we wanted it that way. But now I am ready to share her story, because it does not end there. 

I found in her room, weeks later, a diary she'd left for us which was written on in a spiral notebook, every page was filled up with her writing. It told all about her struggles: things I did and didn't know. It showed how she just stopped caring, how easily I missed the signs, as she stated in her own words.

I only read it through once, the pain was too hard to wrap my head around. My husband still cannot find the strength to touch it. I was forced to admit that, as a mother, I did not know best. I didn't even really know my own child. This does not take away from all the love I have for this beautiful girl that was going to prove everyone wrong someday.

I think, to raise awareness, I'd like to have her words published, not for money or revenue, but just to let people know they aren't alone.

I have a few words of my own I'd like to say, what it's like being without her, how I saw her, so the world can know what a beautiful soul she was.

If you are someone that can put into words the inside of my heart and appreciate my daughter like her father and I do, please message me. This task would involve reading content that is very dark, but unfortunately very real, thoughts. If you knew a little about the industry, that would be helpful, too.

Thank you

Natalie.

Immediately I felt as if a higher power had intended me to find this post. I messaged Natalie right away, and we talked on Zoom. Within an hour's time, it was established that both of us were meant to find each other. I was almost the same age as her late daughter, a writer that wrote for "fun" (this project doesn't classify as that term whatsoever), and someone with an interest in the aviation industry. Through the words I found in that spiral notebook, I found friendship. Both in Natalie, and her daughter I never knew. (Though, I'd like to believe, if we'd come across each other, we would have been friends too.) Most of all, as someone who has lived with my experience of Mental Illness and suicidal ideations, it felt like my duty to raise awareness and help provide resources to combat it.

Before you read these words, let it be known that Juliett's death was not widely publicized. There was hardly any media coverage, and the investigation was kept surprisingly quiet, in spite of the tragedy that had occured. Natalie and Jack assume that this is because General Aviation accidents are much more common and far less devastating. From 2008 to 2017 ( the year of Juliett's death) an average of 94 planes crashed in Alaska every year, the most of which were small aircraft. Thus, two-seater airplanes plowing into the Alaskan wilderness is not an uncommon occurrence, nor a sensation that finds its way to the spotlight of national media platforms. Even more compelling, the family pleaded that the crash be handled as privately as possible. Where appropriate, these wishes were respected.

Everyone involved with the crash, and the following investigation, were aware of the family's desire to keep the motive of suicide withheld. Though it was obvious Juliett had died tragically, most were obscured from the fact it was of her own accord.
That is, until now.

This project has been both humbling and, on a deeper level, a way for me to cope. Facing another's pain gears you up to fight against your own. I hope these words do the same for you.

This is "The Final Will and Testament of Juliett Novembah."

(The following parts have been transferred word-for-word from Juliett's own notebook. She divided it into chapters and sections, which I have done here as well. The content within this notebook contains triggers, like references to suicide, mental illness, alcohol usage, and abortion.Seek medical help immediately if you're considering acting on suicidal thoughts. If you aren't near a hospital, call the  at 800-273-8255. They have trained staff available to speak to you 24 hours a day, seven days a week.)