My husband, Daniel, and I had six children. Three boys and three girls.
Every summer, Daniel took our three sons fishing for the weekend. It was their tradition.
That morning, I stood in the driveway while the boys loaded coolers and fishing rods into the truck. I even took a picture of them.
I had no idea it would be the last photo I’d ever take of my husband and sons.
They were supposed to come back Sunday evening. But they never did.
Neither Daniel nor our oldest son answered their phones, the younger boys didn’t have phones yet.
I called the police.
The next morning, Daniel’s truck and the empty boat trailer were found near the dock. A few hours later, search teams found the damaged boat washed up on the opposite shore.
After weeks of searching, the authorities concluded that all four of them had died in a boating accident. Their bodies had most likely been carried away by the current.
I was left alone to raise our three daughters.
My heart was shattered. How do you keep living after something like that?
Six years passed.
There probably wasn’t a single day when I didn’t wonder what had really happened to them.
Daniel had always been a responsible person. He was the kind of man who always kept a full tank of gas in the car. The kind who checked the weather ten times before going anywhere.
He’d been boating and fishing on that lake for three years. How could something like this have happened?
Even Daniel’s brother, Dean, kept telling me that I needed to let go and move on. He visited often and helped me with the girls after the tragedy.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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