I was at home watching television when the news broke in about the airplane crash. I didn't pay attention to it at first. The crash was hundreds of miles away from my home in Louisiana. In 1975, I was 16 years old and living in my own little world.

When my dad walked in and saw the report, the look on his face brought me into reality. My sister was flying to Switzerland that day, with a layover in NYC. She had been married two days earlier. She and her new husband were flying to Switzerland for their honeymoon and then to Germany where he was stationed in the Army. It didn't take us long to find out that it was her flight.

Most of the information we gained was through watching the television. We knew that there were a few survivors, so all we could do was pray. Our house was full of family and friends who had heard about the plane crash. We were in contact with a local television station that was helping us get the list of survivors.

It was late that night when the call came. I believe we already new before they told us. The crash sight was horrendous and as we watched the scene on TV we had prepared ourselves for the worst. Two days later my parents had to fly to New York to identify the body. They were only able to identify her by clothing under her arm. We were told that the fireball went through the airplane cabin so fast that they felt no pain. They were given a double, closed casket military funeral, with a 21-gun salute and taps played in the distance, at the same church they were married at one week earlier.

A few months later my parents flew back to New York to identify some of her belongings. A couple of suitcases remained intact, though they were damaged and had broken open.

--darbreland