Today marks the 25th anniversary of my Dad’s death. He is remembered for many things in his life: as a husband to my mother, a father to me and my sister, a brother and son to the Hurst family, and a friend to many. But his life is most remembered for how it ended: alongside the 270 other people killed on Pan Am Flight 103 and in Lockerbie, Scotland as the airplane was bombed in an act of terrorism on December 21, 1988.
I was only 3 years old when my father died, so I don’t have many memories about him or from that day. I do remember sitting in our home by the Christmas tree seeing my mom crying by the phone, an unusual sight for a young boy. In a few short days we’d be flying home to St. Louis to mourn with our family, relocating to Missouri where my mom would raise me and my sister. It all happened so fast that it took years to fully understand my family’s life had changed forever.
Read more aboutwhat happened over the next 25 years in the full story on my blog.