She was 18, just three weeks short of 19, a young mother, working hard to make a good life for her and her young son. During the week she attended nursing college. On weekends she worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. She really wanted and deserved her dream trip to Honolulu to spend Christmas with her oldest brother, Justin, who was stationed there in the Army. She was thrilled to be going and I was happy for her. She asked nothing of me but to borrow my luggage. 
She had asked for a skydiving ticket as a Christmas gift. It was something she mentioned she wanted to do when she came to pick up my luggage and I vehemently discouraged. But Justin, being an avid skydiver himself, wanted to fulfill her wish and bought her the ticket as a combination Christmas and birthday present. It was the last gift she would receive. The date was 12-22-02.
It had been a busy Sunday, the last weekend before Christmas. Gifts had been purchased but had just been wrapped earlier that day. I sat down for a quick meal and had almost finished when the phone rang. It was my son, Justin. He sounded as if he was in the Holiday spirit enjoying his sister's visit, laughing. But it wasn't laughter. It was shock and raw pain. He said, "She's gone, Mom. She's gone." It took a few seconds and the question from me, "Who's gone? before I heard the answer. I knew it was coming and dreaded hearing, "Maggie," he sobbed. "Maggie's gone." It was as if I'd been deeply pierced in the stomach and the knife began to turn. I remember screaming, "NO!" Then I collapsed in the chair by the phone. Sobs began. When I could speak I asked what had happened. Justin choked out, "The chutes didn't open. She and the instructor were both killed. I saw it happen, Mom." My heart sunk further feeling his guilt and anguish.