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On August 11, 1986, my life changed drastically. My parents were on an airplane on their way back from a business trip from New York, when the plane that they were on crashed. I was at my Aunt Penya Jones' house. During the 6:00 PM news, the newscaster came on the television and reported that Flight 42 from New York had crashed. My aunt who was on the telephone, turned her attention to the television, and dropped the telephone when she realized that the flight that they were talking about was my parents' flight. "I am sorry to report that there have been no survivors found so far" the newscaster continued. With that remark, my aunt burst into tears, picked the telephone up, and relayed the message to her friend, Minnie. My aunt hung up the telephone and called the airline to find out more information, but she was unsuccessful. She hung up the telephone and went into her room. At 9:45 PM, on August 11, 1986, my aunt received a call that told her that my parents were dead and their bodies had been found in the wreckage of the plane. On August 16 and 17, 1986, my parents were buried in separate funerals.
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