It was a rare early turn-in for me last night. I had one daughter flying to England so first thing this morning I checked to see if her flight had landed. I was grateful to learn that it had, as I always am when a loved one is traveling.

Then I saw the headline. At 8:57 p.m. an American Airlines flight collided midair with a Blackhawk helicopter just outside Reagan National Airport. All passengers and crew are feared dead.

For years I worked next door to National Airport. I walked beside it, looked out the windows of our building to see jets taking off and landing. On long strolls I went to Gravelly Point, where planes sweep in long and low on their way down from the sky. It wasn’t exactly fear I felt I felt watching them, more like awe. But the idea of danger was never far away.

From what I can tell, the collision occurred not far from Gravelly Point. Rescue crews are gathered at the crash scene now, pulling bodies from the wreckage. Across the country and the world, anguished relatives are grieving. My heart goes out to them in a special way. This crash happened in our backyard. For me and for millions, it feels personal.

Here’s the thing about flying. We all know it’s statistically safer than driving a car, something most of us do every day. Yet the fear of flying is real, and always will be. This morning reminds us why.