Reader's Digest New Zealand Feb/ Mar 2026

the first survivors, our anxiety grew. As each stretcher was wheeled into the ER, it was surrounded by a nurse, a surgeon and a Spanish-speaking trans- lator. The injured were sent for X-rays or straight to the operating room. It went astonishingly smoothly. As the first child came in, I went to translate and to provide emotional comfort. It was terrible to see the chil- dren frightened and in pain. Hours later I visited the pediatric floor and saw the director of pediatric social work. Feeling overwhelmed by the trauma surrounding us, we decided to do our rounds together for mutual support. We imagined that many peo- ple had died in the crash, but no one knew how many. Photos were taken of each survivor, and a number was assigned to each, paired with a descrip- tion: “10-year-old boy,” “3-year-old girl” and so on. In the pediatric intensive care unit, we visited an 8-year-old girl with seri- ous injuries. She seemed to be asleep, but as we began to move away, she opened her eyes. “Puedo hacer una pregunta, por favor?” (“May I ask a question, please?’) she asked. “Si,” I responded, feeling tears well- ing up. “Voy a morir?” (“Am I going to die?”) “ No, ” I replied. With a look of relief that I’ll never for- get, she asked, “Puedo dormir?” (“May I go to sleep?”) “Yes,” I replied. My colleague and I were in tears as we walked on—what a lovely child, so sweet and graceful. After visiting the surviving children, we met with the family members of the missing passengers. These families were advised by officials to go to the morgue to ask for information about their loved ones—an unbearably pain- ful statement to hear. Before I knew it, I’d been at the hos- pital for 12 hours. I returned to the pediatric floor to check on the children again. Some were in surgery; others were asking questions. The 8-year-old girl—whose name was Andrea, I learned—asked none. Andrea’s injuries would keep her in the hospital for six weeks. I met with her every day and kept careful notes of our visits. Her mother and brother had per- ished in the crash; her father had sur- vived, but he toldme he felt unable to go on. He feared he might harm himself. “I can offer you a hospital bed,” I told him. “Remember, you have an 8-year- old daughter who needs you nowmore than ever.” We hugged, we cried together, and he agreed to keep on for Andrea’s sake. Soon after this, he told me, “I need to travel to Colombia to bury my wife and son.” I nodded. “Can you watch over my daughter while I’m away?” he asked. I agreed without hesitation. During his weeks of absence, I visited Andrea three times daily: before work, after work and at midday. An index reader ’ s digest 28 february/march 2026 card with my name and phone num- bers sat at her bedside. As a father of two children, I could only imagine how drastically her world had changed. We developed a deep bond: When she saw me coming, she would call out my name—“Fornari!” Andrea’s injuries eventually healed, and she and her father returned home to Colombia. Nine years later, they vis- ited New York City, and we had a reunion. She was 17, a young woman. During our meeting, she shared her desire to become a child psychiatrist; she wanted to help and support chil- dren the way she felt that I’d helped and supported her. In the following years, I thought of her often. And each Jan. 25, I reflected on my experiences with the survivors and their families. The 10th anniversary of the tragedy was commemorated with a memorial service at the crash site and a church service nearby. Survivors thanked their rescuers; families mourned their lost loved ones. In 2010, the 20th anniversary services took place. A generation later, survivors once more thanked their rescuers, and families once again gathered to mourn their lost loved ones. And now here was Andrea’s email, asking whether I remembered her. How could I forget? She wrote that she was now 42, mar- ried and the mother of two daughters, ages 3 and 7. I asked whether we could have a Zoom call, and, after 34 years, we saw each other once again. Andrea’s face was now that of a mature woman, but I’d recognize it anywhere. “I can’t believe I’m speaking with you!” she exclaimed, weeping. “I often think of you and wonder how you’re doing,” I told her. I held up the photos of her, taken in 1990 and 1999, that I keep in my desk drawer. Seeing them, she cried again. “I think of you often,” she sobbed. “Why contact me now?” I asked. “As my daughter turns 8, I imagine what her life might be like without me,” she replied. “I thought of how I fell out of the sky, and how you caught me.” We spoke for 30 minutes. I was left feeling humbled and grateful for the privilege of having worked with this child, and for hearing fromher somany years later. We often wonder what happens to our patients, and whether we’ve made a difference in their lives. With Andrea, I know. FROM PULSE (JAN. 24, 2025) © 2025, VICTOR FORNARI. AFTER 34 YEARS, WE SAW EACH OTHER ONCE AGAIN. readersdigest.co.nz 29 Life Well Lived