May 14th holds a unique weight in my heart, a day stitched together with the threads of loss and love, echoes of the past that still ripple through my present.
In 1977, at just seven years old, I stepped into a new life in Zambia, eyes wide with wonder and a heart full of adventure. Our family’s belongings followed us, packed into the belly of a Dan-Air cargo flight. But on this day, that Boeing 707 never reached its destination. It crashed near Lusaka, just shy of its final approach, at 7:17, killing six crew members and a passenger – seven lives lost.
Among the scattered memories on that fateful flight was my cherished Katycopy doll. I never spoke of the loss, even as a child. It felt wrong to mourn a doll when families were mourning their loved ones. But years later, when my son, with a heart full of love and the intuition only a child can have, surprised me with a Katycopy doll he’d found on eBay, the emotional wave that hit me was staggering. I ached for days. The doll, just a thing to the world, held a weight my body had never quite let go of – the unspoken grief of a little girl who never got to say goodbye to a piece of her childhood.
The body truly keeps the score, storing these emotional imprints long after the conscious mind has moved on.
Oddly enough, this date would come to hold even more significance. It’s the day I chose to marry my husband – a choice made with an open heart and no awareness of the shadow that already clung to it. Years later, a stranger told me the number 7 held significance for me. I dismissed it at the time, insisting 4 was my lucky number. But when I looked back, I realised the uncanny web of 7s that had quietly threaded itself through my life.
I was 7 when we moved to Zambia. The plane that carried our possessions was a Boeing 707. It crashed in 1977, at 7:17, and I believe it claimed 7 lives. And on this very day, years later, I chose to marry the love of my life, beginning a partnership that has only deepened with time.
And then there’s my grandad, Dennis. He passed away on this date, too – a kind, steady presence in my early life, whose quiet strength still echoes in my heart. He taught me the power of quiet bravery that comes from standing firm in who you are. I carry that with me, a quiet pulse beneath the noise of life, a reminder that love, in all its forms, truly endures.
Through all the losses, love has remained my constant. My husband and I married with full hearts, and over the years, our bond has only strengthened, weathering the storms life inevitably brings. He remains my anchor, my safe harbour in a world of shifting tides.
So, on this day, I remember those who left too soon – the pieces of myself I have lost and found, and the love that continues to anchor me.
If you have something you cherish today, hold it a little closer. If there’s someone you love, tell them – again, and again, and again.