When the Sky Fell Closer to Home: A Journey Through Grief and Gratitude

Introduction: A Personal Reflection

It took me six months to find the words. This isn’t just a story; it’s a reflection on grief, gratitude, and the fragility of life. While others were more closely connected to the recent tragedy that shook us, the effects rippled through our community, leaving many of us grappling with emotions that were difficult to express.

The Opportunity: A Glimpse into Promise

In January, my son and his skating partner received an invitation to the U.S. Figure Skating National Development Camp, an esteemed opportunity that is extended only to those competitive skaters who excel in the national qualifying series. The enormity of this achievement was not lost on us. It provided the chance for athletes from diverse backgrounds to converge in Wichita, Kansas. For a brief moment, we witnessed a world brimming with potential as elite coaches and skaters engaged in an environment rich in training and camaraderie.

The Day the Sky Fell

On June 29th, we flew home early. I had a work event, and the other parent needed to return for professional obligations as well. We landed in Providence with full hearts, still buzzing from the energy and inspiration of the camp. I wasn’t feeling well—had lost my voice—and decided to skip my event and rest.

Then I woke up from a nap to devastating news: Flight 5342 had crashed.

That flight was carrying skaters and coaches returning from the same camp. A group chat that had been lively during the week suddenly turned frantic. Messages poured in as families tried to confirm who was on board. Before the news even broke publicly, we knew. We had just seen them. Some were from our own skating club.

We weren’t close to the skaters who were lost, but we knew who they were. We admired them. We saw their talent, their promise. We identified with their families. And we grieved with them.

Even though we were never meant to be on that flight, the “what ifs” haunted us.

Finding Closure and Moving Forward

I struggled to help my son understand that it was okay to grieve—even if he didn’t know them personally. It was okay to feel shaken. For a while, he kept it all in, insisting he was fine. But I wasn’t fine. How could he be?

U.S. Figure Skating and even his former high school, Mount St. Charles, offered support and resources. He declined them all—until one night, he finally opened up. He had known of the skaters. He’d had kind, brief interactions with them. He didn’t understand why it had to be them. And he couldn’t shake the thought that it could’ve been him.

We attended every vigil we could—from local gatherings to the powerful tribute at the ISU World Competition in Boston. The community support was overwhelming, and we are so grateful for it.

Did we fly again? Yes. Were we scared? Absolutely. Just a few months later, my son competed out of state. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of those skaters every time we boarded a plane. I still do. Their faces come to mind every time we land.

This experience has been a painful reminder to cherish every moment. Life is fragile. We only get one. Let’s live it with sincerity, kindness, and compassion—for ourselves and for others.