When I was in middle school a kid who went to the same Buddhist temple as my family died in a plane crash on Guam. Pilot error, apparently.

We weren’t BFFs but he was a nice kid and we had been on a few camping trips together just the year before. My younger sister was pretty close to him and got the news from his parents the day after the crash. He was popular so they ended up having something like a memorial for him at the Sunday school. People were pretty broken up about it. His parents ended up separating a few years afterward, though they stayed in touch with each other at least.

It was the first time anyone other than a grandparent or older relative I knew had died, so it kind of messed with my head for a while. I know I definitely haven’t really enjoyed flying ever since, at least.