My name is Carolyn. I’m 71 years old, and six months ago my entire life was divided into “before” and “after” in a single devastating moment.
My daughter Darla and her husband boarded a plane for a work trip, leaving their four children with me for what was supposed to be just a weekend visit. The plane never reached its destination. Engine failure. No survivors. Just like that, in an instant, they were gone forever.
Suddenly, without any preparation or warning, I became both mother and grandmother to four children who couldn’t begin to understand why their parents weren’t coming home. Lily was nine years old, Ben was seven, Molly was five, and Rosie had just turned four.
The three older children understood enough to grieve properly. Rosie, however, kept waiting expectantly, genuinely believing her parents would walk through the door any moment.
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