There were nightmares, slammed doors, burned dinners, and moments I hid in the bathroom just to breathe. But there were also crayon drawings, school forms signed with my last name, whispered “goodnight, Dad” moments that made my hands shake. The house filled back up—with noise, shoes by the door, and something that felt like purpose.
A year later, I learned their parents had left behind more than memories.
They had written a will, created a small trust, and made one wish unmistakably clear: their children were never to be separated. Without knowing it, I had carried out what they hoped for. I didn’t step forward for money or a house—I didn’t even know those existed.
I said yes because four siblings were about to lose each other, and I couldn’t let that happen. I’m not their first father. I’ll always miss the family I lost.
But now, when four kids pile onto the couch, steal my popcorn, and call me “Dad,” I know this much is true: this is what love looks like after loss. Us. Together.
A private jet linked to a Houston law firm crashed during takeoff from Bangor International Airport in Maine, ending six lives in an instant.
Continue reading…
