I was home on a break from SUNY Brockport. My studies were finished and I was excited about starting an internship at the Pinehurst Golf Resort in North Carolina in March. Earlier in the evening I had spent time at my boyfriend Dan’s house.
I had been watching "Private Practice" on a television in my sister Kim’s front bedroom. During a commercial, I went down to the family room and chatted with Mom and Dad. We talked about school and my upcoming internship. There had been a number of different internship opportunities. I had called Dad several times to get his thoughts on what direction I should take. He offered suggestions, but left the final decision up to me. I knew, though, that the thought of possibly playing golf at Pinehurst seemed like a good selling point to Dad.
I went back upstairs to Kim’s room to catch the rest of the program. It wasn’t long before I heard the familiar sound of a plane overhead. We lived near the airport and were used to hearing the planes. Something was different, though, very different. The noise grew incredibly loud — deafening actually.
The next thing I knew, I remember looking at the floor and seeing that it was almost slanted. The force of the crash had knocked me off the bed. As my mind cleared from the initial shock, I knew I had to get out. I saw flames already blocking the front windows. Pure panic started when I realized if I didn’t find another way out I would burn to death. I frantically felt my way along the walls until I came to an opening. I now believe I either emerged from the upstairs bathroom window or the crawl space in the hall ceiling. I was barefoot. I eased my way down to the ground on something slippery — more than likely the plane wing. Access to the front of the house was blocked, so I made my way to the backyard. I saw my mom popping out of a space at the back of the house. I ran over to her.