As is so often the case with epochal events, I can recall the precise details of the instant I learned of the bombing of Pan Am 103. The fading light of an uncharacteristically warm day gave no hint or portents of the tragedy unfolding over 3,000 miles away.
I sat on our ghastly orange couch in our yet-to-be renovated living room; the television droned in the background, but I was lost in thought until the moment when the flames of Lockerbie filled the screen.
Everything changed at that moment, though it would be a day before I felt the full weight of the tragedy.
Daniel Cohen, who lost his daughter Theodora in the bombing, once said, “If someone remembers your name, you’re not truly dead.” Today, 27 years after the Lockerbie bombing, I remember their names.
[envira-gallery id=”30772″]
