At 3 p.m. on May 25, 2002, China Airlines flight CI-611, carrying 225 people on board, crashed into the waters of the Taiwan Straits just off Penghu Island. Rescue workers immediately appeared to comb the sea for wreckage and survivors. Tzu Chi volunteers from Penghu Island and other parts of Taiwan pitched in to console bereaved family members. By July 3, over seven thousand Tzu Chi volunteers had mobilized. The following is the author's eye-witness account of the scene on the day after the crash.

The plane slowly accelerates on the runway, takes off and flies into the sky. The sunlight streaming through the windows fails to disperse the gloom and deadly silence in the cabin. The headline of the newspaper glares at me: "Plane crash! 225 people feared dead!"

Is this a dream?

As I fly above the Taiwan Straits, my heart sinks. Cabin attendants demonstrate the way to put on life jackets. They continue their routine by handing us water and moist towels.

They remind me of a conversation I had earlier at the airport with a gangly young man in his twenties. "When we decided to get married, we were mentally prepared for accidents because it's a risky job," he said. His wife, an airline attendant, was killed in this crash. His acceptance of his unexpected loss with such composure and understanding took me aback--I didn't know whether to praise him or to worry about him.

The young man is now sitting three rows ahead of me; I cannot see his face. But I can see a picture of the Earth Treasury Bodhisattva pasted to the back of the seat in front of the passenger before me. In the passenger's hands is a picture of a sweet-looking girl. She, too, was an airline attendant.

White clouds now hang like veils in the blue sky.

This plane, laden with members of bereaved families and volunteers, is heading towards Penghu Island. Below us is the Taiwan Strait, which has just swallowed up two hundred lives.

Tears of sorrow now fill the sea that separated life and death.

"Your mother would be sad if she saw you like this"

Hope and fear fills the activity hall at the Penghu air base, where recovered bodies are being identified. Relatives of crash victims hope to find the bodies, and yet they fear that recovery of the bodies will destroy their hope of finding the victims alive. The announcements of names of the deceased are too much for families to bear. Each time an announcement is made, bereaved ones cry hysterically, and some even faint.

A policeman unzips a body bag, revealing a bruised face. "Mother!" a young man shouts. Unable to believe that his mother will never open her eyes again, he repeatedly bangs his head and hands against the floor. His grief almost overwhelms all of us standing nearby.

"No, you must stop!" I say as I pull him into my arms.

The scene moves even a police officer. He takes a moment to ask, "Is this your mother? Have you had a close look?" The youth crawls back to the body and fixes his gaze at the distorted face--the first person he saw when he was delivered into the world. What words can express his sorrow?

The lad nods. We help him to his feet and hand him a moist towel to wipe his face and hands. As I accompany him to the official to have his deposition taken, I tell him, "My son is your age. If I passed away, my heart would ache to see him as sad as you are now."

He looks down and wipes his tears.

"If your mother could see you, she would be very sad to see you like this. Be strong and give your attention to the funeral arrangements, and I am sure her soul will rest in peace."

He nods.

"Life is like a play. She played the mother and you the son. She has finished her part and left the stage. If she acted well, shouldn't everyone give her applause?"

I pat his shoulder. "It would be cruel if I told you not to be sad, but you ought to pull yourself together and transform your sorrow into blessings for your mother. You should pray that your mother will be free of pain and worries. When everything is over with, find a charity organization you like and become a volunteer. Remember to do your mother's share as well."

A Tzu Chi commissioner's children

"These are the son and daughters of Tzu Chi commissioner Tsai Lan-chin. Tsai and her husband were both killed in the crash." Lin Sheng-sheng, also a Tzu Chi commissioner, sadly introduces the bereaved children to us. "Mom and dad and six neighbors were going to tour China," says one of the children. "Who would have thought that they would all pass away like this?"

In the picture that one of them holds, I see Tsai in her Tzu Chi uniform wearing a graceful smile on her beautiful face. When we see her body on the ground, we all burst into tears. "This can't be real!" Her face is bruised and her hair in disarray.

"Tsai, your daughters and son are here," Lin says to the body. "Master Cheng Yen is very concerned about you. You know life is impermanent. Since your time in this world has ended, please let go of everything. Remember to return to Tzu Chi in your next life and be a person who can help others. Remember to come back quickly!"

One of the daughters immediately kneels down beside the body of her mother and chants the name of the Amitabha Buddha. Because the air in the gym is stale, I invite her to chant with everyone outside, but she declines. "I haven't spent much time with my mom since I was married, so I want to stay beside her now."

The children stay with their mother as her body is washed and placed into a coffin. Afterwards they either kneel beside the casket or walk around it chanting the holy name of the Amitabha Buddha.

"They are very brave," Lin says. Since the children understand the sorrow of the other bereaved families, they go with Lin to comfort those who are in their same situation.

A pair of sisters who feel lost

Two girls identify Body #59 as their father. They grip the hands of Tzu Chi commissioner Liao Li-tsen. "Please stay with us," the girls beg her. "I'll stay right here with you, don't you worry," Liao reassures them. After it is confirmed that their dear father is dead, the two girls are engulfed in sadness. They don't know what to do. Liao teaches them to kowtow to their father to thank him for all he did for them, and to reassure him that they will take care of each other and be useful people.

When they must leave their father's body to have their depositions taken, they ask Liao to keep an eye on their father and not to let flies bother him. Liao crouches beside the body and patiently fans away the flies until the girls return.

"Mrs. Laio, can we call you when we need you?" ask the two girls. Liao gives them her telephone number. The girls are somewhat relieved to have Liao as a life buoy in a turbulent ocean.

Blessings

Gradually the sun begins to set. The emotionally draining day has exhausted many victims' families and rescue workers. Tzu Chi volunteers prepare hot meals for them. As I walk to the dining area for dinner, a young man approaches me and whispers, "Are you a Tzu Chi volunteer? Can you ask more volunteers to come and help?"

Although most of the passengers on board CI-611 were Taiwanese, a few were from mainland China. A middle-aged Chinese citizen who had been working in Taiwan was returning to Fujian to see his ailing wife. Unfortunately, he took the fatal plane. Now his three grieving children, who promptly flew to Penghu, have not had any food. Tears roll down their cheeks. Several volunteers and I try to console them. Finally the brother and the older sister eat a few mouthfuls of food. The little sister just stares blankly at the floor.

"You don't feel like eating?" I ask. "Your father must have loved you dearly."

She nods, and begins to sob.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen..."

"You're luckier than I am. My father passed away when I was seven." I hug her in my arms and speak softly to her, "You must hang on and be a good girl. Your mother and little brother need you. If you don't want to eat, at least drink some soup."

She picks up the bowl and takes a few sips.

After the three siblings return to their hotel to rest, two brothers from Heilongjiang, northern China, arrive at the hall. The older brother explains that their mother had come to Taiwan to visit relatives. When she returned to mainland China, seven of the re latives went with her. Now they are all dead.

The brothers changed four flights to get to Penghu. It was a long and tiring journey. Now they simply hope that they can find their mother's body and take it home. The older brother fears that the body might not be recovered. I tell him, "It's best if the body can be found; but if not, it isn't a bad idea to let it rest on the ocean floor."

"If worst comes to worst, there is nothing we can do about it," he replies.

"Life is full of changes. Nobody can predict what will happen in the next second. I have told my son numerous times that when I pass away, he must fill his heart with blessings instead of sorrow, or I will be upset."

The young man understands and immediately answers, "I know what you mean. Thank you!"

Fortunately, their mother's body is recovered the following morning. The two brothers decide to cremate the body in Taipei and take the remains back to their home in Heilongjiang.

Live without regrets

A news reporter asks me how Tzu Chi volunteers usually start a conversation with members of bereaved families. "Sometimes wordless action is better than words," I tell him. "For example, yesterday many victims' family members stood on the pier calling out to the sea for their loved ones' souls to come back. The day was blazing hot, so we held up umbrellas for them and handed them cups of water and moist towels."

"How can you do it so naturally?" asks the reporter.

"We put ourselves in their shoes," I answer.

He then asks how Tzu Chi volunteers psychologically prepare themselves to help the less fortunate. "Every disaster sharpens our awareness that life is impermanent," I reply. "Master Cheng Yen often reminds us, 'Nobody knows which will come first, tomorrow or death. We do not have the right to own our body, only the right to use it.' So we have to make the best of every second."

"Life truly is impermanent..." the reporter agrees.

"We will all die one day, but few people take it seriously," I note. "Many think they or their families are exempt from death. Or they think death is too far away, not something that could happen to us at any time."

"How do you prepare for death?"

"If we live with no regrets, then we will not fear death."

"How should bereaved families cope with their sorrow?"

"Time is the best medicine. But I think it's best if they can become volunteers. Through helping others they will be able to heal their wounds faster."

One day all of us will have to cross this shore of life to the other shore of death. If those who "depart" earlier can leave with a carefree heart, and if those who "see them off" can do so happily, then what a wonderful journey it will be!