Police cars and ambulances lined the road in front of our house.
George slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and raced for the front door. I ran around the back of the car. Halfway across the yard two ambulance attendants grabbed me by the arms.
"Let me go!" I yelled. "Those are my kids in there. I've got to get in there."
Glancing toward the house, I saw that George had made it to the porch before two officers stopped him. It was obvious they weren't going to let him in either.
"What happened?" My eyes pleaded for an answer.
"We don't know," she said quietly.
"Where are my kids? Are they in the ambulance?" I spun around, wanting desperately to see them there. Instead I saw only white emptiness. I turned back to the woman, my teary eyes begging for an answer.
"They're still in the house," the woman stammered.
Again I stared at the house. It was pitch-black! Nobody was in there trying to help my kids. If they were hurt, they wouldn't just leave them in there alone. If they were OK, why didn't they let my kids come out to me? I could think of only one rational explanation. Turning to the attendants and in almost a whisper I said, "They're all dead, aren't they?"
Join author Joy Swift as she recounts her search for answers following the deaths of four children. This book is especially helpful if you (or a friend) have lost a loved one and are looking for answers about what happens to us when we die.
Joy Swift
Joy Swift lives in Montana with her husband, George. They have three children born since the tragedy, Sandy, Matt, and Michael. Joy and George are active in their local church, and have spent the past two years building a cabin on the western slope of the Rockies.