My name is Carolyn. I’m 71 years old, and six months ago my life was split into “before” and “after.”
My daughter, Darla, and her husband boarded a plane for a work trip, leaving their four children with me for the weekend. The plane never made it. Engine failure. No survivors. Just like that, they were gone.
Suddenly, I became both mother and grandmother to four children who couldn’t understand why their parents weren’t coming home. Lily was nine, Ben seven, Molly five, and Rosie had just turned four.
The older three understood enough to grieve. Rosie, however, kept waiting, believing her parents would walk through the door.
