Rexrode: What do you email your wife when you think you're going to die?

“Sorry, I died.”

After it was all over and I was safely on the ground, my morbid little mind came up with that as a subject line for the email I was going to send to my wife. That wouldn’t have been the actual subject line, of course. But I was actually writing Katie Rexrode an email Sunday morning, explaining that my plane was going down and that I loved her and the kids and … I don’t know what else would have gone in there.

Tell Caroline to remember to brush her teeth before bed. Tell Jack that he has to do more chores now and has to take care of his brother and sister. Tell Brennan it’s not too late for him to stop being a fan of the Detroit Lions. Tell them all I’m proud of them. I don’t know.

I was only a couple of sentences in when I noticed that the wireless on my Delta flight from Atlanta to Cleveland was gone, too. It apparently cut out when the engine on the right side of the plane blew, creating a loud, awful screeching noise and a worse, burning smell in the cabin. The plane wobbled and dipped, not like a typical instance of turbulence.

More:Delta plane bound for Cleveland makes emergency landing in Knoxville due to engine failure

The flight attendants looked as stunned as everyone else — my eyes went directly to them after the jolt — and quickly wheeled the drink cart back to the front of the plane and gathered near the cockpit. They started looking through an emergency manual. I’m no expert, but I’m thinking that’s not a great sign.

I was on the left side of the plane, an aisle seat a couple of rows in front of where the engines under the wings are located. We were about 20 minutes into the flight and I was doing work on my laptop, preparing for Sunday’s assignment of covering the Tennessee Titans at the Cleveland Browns. After that first wave of panic, with my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, I went to my Yahoo mail account and started writing something to Katie and the kids. I figured, get them something, get a few words out, comfort them in some way. Say goodbye.

Then I realized the wireless was gone. I gulped, closed the laptop, put it in my bag and looked around the plane.

Some background: I’ve been on hundreds of flights in my life. Over the Atlantic, over the Pacific, down to South America, several times to the Middle East. When I was 13, I flew by myself from Detroit to New York to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, where we lived on a U.S. military base. I once flew on a tiny plane in the African country of Tanzania and got sick on a bed of flowers after we landed in Dar es Salaam. I’ve encountered countless bad takeoffs, bad landings, bad weather situations and turbulence so bad it was like being a sock in a clothes dryer.

Whenever turbulence hits, people look around a plane. As a kid, my eyes would dart around and I would always feel better to see an adult yawning or just acting like it was no big thing. As I got older, I tried to be that person. Casually pull out a book, lean back and take a nap. Be cool. Maybe a freaked-out kid or first-time flyer will see you and get some comfort.

There was none of that in this moment. From anyone. I turned to my left to talk to the guys in my row, but they didn’t speak much English and didn’t look like they felt much like talking. There was a family in front of us, a young child happily oblivious and his parents clutching each other and whispering.

It felt like the plane was going down, and below us were mountains. And then it got worse. Another loud, awful noise, followed by silence and the feeling that we had no more engine propulsion in the air. It’s the most quiet I’ve ever heard a plane. At that moment, I thought the other engine was gone. The only sound among 139 people was a couple of them whimpering and a couple of young children babbling.

That’s the first time in my life I’ve been certain I was going to die. I thought of my family. The things I would miss, the sporting events and graduations, walking Caroline down the aisle. And then I thought of how I got here. My boss had actually given me the go-ahead to skip the Alabama-Tennessee game on Saturday, and I was going to go watch Brennan play in a soccer tournament in Gatlinburg, then fly Sunday out of Knoxville to Cleveland.

But it was too expensive to make that switch (this is my pitch for employee of the month), and besides, Butch Jones watch was worth the trip to Tuscaloosa. So it was 5:30 a.m. out of Birmingham to Atlanta, then Atlanta to Cleveland. I felt sick as I considered that a 45-7 Vols loss was the reason I was on this flight. Then I remembered something else: The Knoxville flight would have connected through Atlanta, and this would have been my Cleveland flight either way.

This was my time. If that sounds dramatic, remember, I’m a hot-taking sports columnist. Give Butch a chance! Fire Butch! Vandy’s defense is amazing! Vandy’s defense is terrible! Titans can make the Super Bowl! Titans aren’t playoff worthy! We swim in hyperbole.

But that is what I truly thought, and I said a prayer and felt some peace. And I don’t know if all that took 45 seconds or 10 minutes, but the pilot came on and told us an engine was out and we were going to make an emergency landing in Knoxville. Apparently, per the reporting of the Knoxville News-Sentinel, that second loud noise was the pilots shutting down the bad engine.

We still had some propulsion. We were going to make it. Relief washed over me. We were quickly on the ground, a rough landing, and the firetrucks were out there just in case, but it was fine. We all applauded. I gave the dudes next to me an awkward half hug. We all shook the hand of pilot John Michael Miller. I hung back and asked if I could talk to him after everyone was off. Shook his hand again. Told him I’d flown hundreds of times and had never experienced anything like that.

“Neither have I,” he said.

He started telling me it was an apparent oil problem with the engine, then realized I’m a reporter and referred me to Delta’s public relations team. That’s OK. Give me one more handshake, John.

Once in the terminal, I sat down for a moment and cried. I giggled as I thought of that awful email subject line. And I called Katie. I really hope no one was watching me.

By the time another plane could get to Knoxville and get everyone to Cleveland, I would have missed most of the game. So my family came from Gatlinburg to pick me up at the airport. We watched the game from a sports bar and then rushed to Brennan’s last soccer game of the tourney. It was a blowout win and I had my laptop on my lap the whole time, but let me promise you, it was the greatest sporting event I’ll ever attend.

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Contact Joe Rexrode at jrexrode@tennessean.com and follow him on Twitter @joerexrode.