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Josh is six years old. He lost his first tooth last week and made me promise I wouldn’t stay away so long this time.

James is four. He still crawls into our bed when it storms because he’s afraid of thunder. He believes I can stop anything bad from happening simply because I’m his dad.

I promised both my boys I would be home soon.

I was too late.

Sean picks up the phone and speaks quietly to my mother. Holt stands in front of me, but I can’t look at him.

I can’t look at either of them.

They have families too. People waiting for them. People they’ll walk through the door and hold.

There is no one waiting for me.

“Logan,” Holt says carefully. “We’re getting you home.”

“I should have been there.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“You don’t know that.”

My voice breaks on the final word.

I turn away before they see me fall apart, but there is nowhere to hide. The airfield is too open. The sky is too blue. People laugh near the building as they load their bags into waiting vehicles.

How can anyone laugh when my children are dead?

A sound rips out of me. I bend forward, pressing both hands against my stomach as if I can hold myself together.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing will ever hold me together again.

Sean’s arm closes around my shoulders. Holt moves to my other side, and neither man says a word while I break apart between them.

I don’t remember the flight home.

I don’t remember leaving the airfield or walking into the funeral home. I don’t remember choosing flowers or answering questions about clothes.

I remember three caskets.

Cathy’s is on the left.

Josh and James are beside her.

My mother stands with her arms wrapped around me, but I can’t feel her. Sean, Holt, and the rest of my team fill the rows behind us. I hear others crying, but I don’t care.

Everything I have ever cared about is gone.

I don’t hear what the minister says.

All I see are two small caskets that should never have been made.

Someone tells me I can say goodbye.

I walk to Josh first.