On July 28, 2010, families waited for their loved ones at Benazir Bhutto International Airport. An accident happened, and they never disembarked. That was the day exactly two years ago that 152 people aboard Air Blue flight 202 lost their lives crashing into the Margalla Hills.

There is not much good that can be said of a tragedy like this. The memory is burned like a brand into the hearts of family members, beginning a nightmare of chaos and confusion, of grief and shock that never ends. Some of the families learned right away, might even have heard the impact, saw the smoke, heard the crash. Some of the families were waiting at home, and learned later of their loss. All of them waited for loved ones who would never come home again. Some of them feel like they are still waiting, still listening for a footstep they will never hear again.

They may have heard that the plane had made 13,500 flights. They might have asked themselves why was it not 13,501 flights? Why not 13,499? If the plane had made one more or one fewer flight, their loved ones would not have been aboard. They have asked themselves a thousand questions, wondering what happened in the cockpit, and why. They may have learned terms like CRM (cockpit resource management), which is a way the flight crew is trained to communicate more effectively amongst themselves, leading to better outcomes. The CRM aboard flight 202 was not what it should have been.

They have found that official reports say how something happened. But they do not answer the questions in a human soul asking why their beloved——father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, child——had to die.

Now that two years have passed, the families have had two years to accustom themselves to their loss. Two years seems so long, and yet it is hardly time enough to process a loss that is forever. And while it is true that the accident is the beginning of a tragedy that has no ending, the nightmare does fade.

But this is what I have learned, after seeing so many tragic accidents. It takes time. In the beginning, the families make it through one day at a time. Time helps to ease the pain, and allows family members again learn to feel the sun, and not feel guilty for it; it takes time to learn the survival skill of illuminating the dark with sweet memories without feeling the grief; it takes time to find beauty in the world again. It takes time to relearn how to laugh, and not feel guilty for laughing.

This is the job of the survivors. To continue. To live on. We grow stronger every day. When it comes down to it, we are all survivors. Maybe we have not all lost loved ones in a plane crash, but we have all loved and lost. And this is my message: Our survival is nothing to feel guilty for; it is our responsibility. It is a precious gift. Let us hold tight to the hands that are still here, and share the love. In every new moment of our lives, we do not walk alone. When we see a new sunset or sunrise, when we hear the laughter of a child, when we begin to see the vivid colors of life again, we do not see or feel these things alone. We carry with us the spirits of those we love.