The Night It Happened

I’ve decided to write a series of posts about my experience in the immediate aftermath of the collision. Revisiting this period is helpful to me, but reading about it may not be helpful to you. Feel free to skip this one if you might find it upsetting.

Spencer and I were both flight trackers. We had that in common. Whenever we traveled, Spencer would investigate where our plane was coming from, whether it had taken off on time, and whether it was on track to arrive with enough turnaround time to keep our flight on schedule.

I was tracking Christine and Spencer’s flight from Wichita periodically on January 29, 2025.

Even though they still had a connection to make, I was excited to hear how the trip was going during their layover. I had checked in with Christine when they were still waiting to board, and she mentioned that Spencer’s coaches, Vadim and Genia, Spencer’s friend Jinna and her mom, Jin, and several of the Virginia-area skaters from Spencer’s age group were also on the flight. I imagined the trip being a bit more jovial and social than the usual plane full of strangers.

As their 9:03 p.m. scheduled arrival into Washington, D.C., approached, it appeared that they would land a bit early. When the flight status changed to “arrived,” I didn’t text them right away. I figured it would take some time to taxi to the gate, disembark, and get to their connecting gate.

After 15 or 20 minutes, I pulled up the Apple Find My app to peek at their progress. Curiously, Christine’s location still showed up as Wichita, and Spencer’s showed up at a location between Wichita and D.C., presumably as a result of in-flight Wi-Fi use.

This immediately struck me as strange. Even if they were stuck on the tarmac waiting for a gate or experiencing some other kind of delay getting off the plane, there was zero chance that Spencer in particular would not have turned his phone on.

I wasn’t overly alarmed though and went back to tidying up the house. (A week of just Milo and me had taken a toll.) I finished soon after, sat down on the couch, and checked Find My again. No change. I still wasn’t alarmed. Why would I be?

I started clicking around to a few news sites. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Just killing time. I clicked over to CNN.com and saw a very small breaking news ticker along the top of the page saying that a small plane had crashed in the Potomac River.

I immediately flashed to all of the times I had flown into Reagan National on work trips, each descent following the path of the Potomac to avoid the sensitive government and military airspace in the D.C. area.

My heart began beating out of my chest.

Even though there were still explanations for not having heard from them, like an unrelated plane crash freezing operations at the airport or disrupting cellular service, I could just feel that it was their flight.

I jumped into action searching for evidence to contradict what my gut was telling me, re-checking flight trackers and refreshing news sites incessantly. Then more details emerged: it was an American Airlines regional flight that had originated in Wichita — Flight 5342. I opened my email and searched for the booking confirmation.

It was a match.

Nothing was known yet about the severity of the crash or whether there were any survivors. But any scenario my mind could conjure was devastating. Both of them gone. Both of them alive but hurt and terrified. One of them OK but in agony over the other. Spencer alone, scared, and struggling in icy, fuel-contaminated waters.

I searched for the American Airlines customer service number and mashed my way through the automated voice prompts until I got a human.

I explained that my family members were on the flight that just crashed in D.C., and that I was trying to get any information about what was happening and whether there were any survivors.

The words I was speaking did not register.

It was clear that the American representative had no idea that one of their planes had crashed. She moved on to trying to give me an update on when Christine and Spencer’s connecting flight would likely arrive in Providence.

“No,” I said. “One of your planes just crashed in D.C. They were on it. Can you go to CNN.com?”

She asked if she could put me on hold. After a long hold, she came back on and asked me to re-confirm my name and the best contact number to reach me. She said that they were still trying to find out what was happening, but that someone would be in touch.

My next conversation was with Spencer’s third skating coach, Anne, who had also been in Wichita. Thankfully, Anne had taken a different flight and was already home. I confirmed that Christine and Spencer were on Flight 5342 and also told her that I thought Vadim, Genia, Jinna, and Jin were as well. She said she would check in with their family members.

Through all of this, Milo was in his natural habitat: gaming in his bedroom with the door closed. Eventually, he came out and could see that I was upset and scrambling around. He asked me what was happening.

“There was an accident with a plane in Washington, D.C., and I think it was the one that Mom and Spencer were on. I’m trying to find out what is happening,” I said, trying to speak calmly despite what I was feeling.

“They’re both dead, aren’t they?” he replied.

“We don’t know that yet,” I replied. “I’m scared that they are, but there are a lot of people working really hard to rescue people right now. We shouldn’t give up hope.”

I gave him a hug, and then he escaped back into gaming. I couldn’t think of a better place for him, so I opened my phone and turned off all of the time limits on his games and internet access.

I called Christine’s father to let him know what was happening. Even though my heart hadn’t slowed, it was a calm conversation, both of us in shock and disbelief.

I called my parents as well. They live about 40 minutes away, and they offered to come to my house immediately. I asked them to hold off for the time being, mostly because I felt like it would shatter the illusion of normalcy for Milo. I also just needed time to wrap my head around what to do next.

I tried American Airlines again, now using a dedicated number that was being shown on TV and online. This time, they at least had basic knowledge of what had happened. But they had no real information for me about the crash or what I should do next. Again, they asked me to provide my name and contact number. They said that a special care team was being assembled and would be in touch soon. I asked when. They didn’t know for sure, but said it would be soon.

Soon after, I heard back from Anne. She let me know that a group of family and friends of the other passengers from the Skating Club of Boston was going to drive to D.C. overnight. There was a seat for me if I wanted it.

The decision of whether to go was the most gut-wrenching of the night. I wanted more than anything to get down there and do whatever I could for Christine and Spencer. But unlike the rest of the group driving down, I also had a 13-year-old boy down the hall who had probably just lost his mother and brother. Dragging him to D.C. with me didn’t feel right. And I couldn’t bring myself to leave him so soon after this had happened.

I decided to stay, see if I could get further information over the phone, and reassess in the morning.

I made repeated calls to American Airlines throughout the rest of the night. Every time, it was a broken record. “Name? Best number to reach you? The care team will be in touch soon.”

Milo eventually faded off into sleep. I tried to go to bed, but my brain felt like it was buzzing and short-circuiting. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, unanswerable questions about Christine, Spencer, Milo, and me swirling in circles.

I never did fall asleep.

If you found this interesting or moving, consider making a donation to the Christine Conrad Lane Memorial Dog Park.