In the chaos of the Louisville crash, UPS pilot’s wife believed she had lost him

A woman who identified herself as the wife of a UPS pilot shared an emotional account of the moments following the fatal crash of UPS Flight 2976 near Louisville, Kentucky.
Speaking to a local news anchor, she revealed that her husband had been scheduled to depart Louisville around the same time as the doomed flight and that she had not received any communication from him since the incident—leaving her fearing the worst as authorities worked to identify the victims.
In a heartfelt written statement, she described the shock, fear, and helplessness she experienced as news of the crash broke:
“Your husband flies, right? Is he flying this week?”
What an odd text from my friend, I thought, as I drove my kids home from their sports activities.
“Yes,” I replied. “He’s flying right now, actually. Took off from Louisville just a short time ago.”
Moments later, a breaking news alert appeared on her phone — a UPS cargo plane had crashed shortly after takeoff from Louisville, with reports of multiple casualties.
“I knew from her text that she already knew something terrible had happened. For the next what felt like eternity, my heart was in my throat. My hands were shaking. I was sobbing. I thought I lost him. He’s the rock of our family — our everything. And I kept thinking, have I ever actually told him that? Why didn’t I tell him again as he left the house today?”
As panic set in, she pulled her car over with her children inside.
“Hey guys, Mommy doesn’t feel good. I just need a minute,” she told them.
Her husband’s last message, sent at 4:41 p.m., simply read: “I love you, getting ready to take off.”
“I sat there staring at that text, trying to line up when the crash happened. Not a lot of time between. Was it him? Why hasn’t he messaged me yet?” she wrote.
“Babe, can you please message me? Just need to know you’re okay,” she texted again.
As the minutes dragged on, friends and family flooded her phone with worried messages: “You okay? He’s okay, right? You’ve heard from him?”
“No. I don’t know. I can’t get ahold of him,” she recalled. “My mind was in a million places. What if that plane was his? What if his plans changed? What if?”
She replayed her last message to him — a trivial complaint about one of their children — and felt deep regret.
“Why did I waste time with that? Why didn’t I just say, ‘I love you’? I prayed. I cried. For myself, yes, but for others too. This is someone’s life — many people’s lives.”
Then came the moment that broke her: video of the crash.
“A massive fireball. Unsurvivable. Still not knowing if that’s him. I felt sick. All our plans, our sweet children, everything we’re building together — flashing before my eyes.”
She remembered her daughter’s words from just two days earlier:
“Daddy makes everything better, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she wrote. “He does.”
After what felt like hours, she finally received the message she had been praying for: her husband had landed safely several states away.
“It wasn’t him. I could finally breathe,” she said. “But it was his colleagues.”
Her relief was mixed with profound grief for the families who would not receive that same message.
“Relief for me, yes. But this is someone’s entire world — someone’s parent, someone’s soulmate, someone’s child. Someone’s person who makes everything better. My heart breaks for them all.”
She closed her statement with a message of reflection and gratitude:
“I’m praying for the families of the at least nine souls lost — people who just went to work, kissed their loved ones goodbye, and that was it. It could be any of us. Events like this put everything in perspective. None of us is promised tomorrow. Never waste an opportunity to tell someone you love them, that you adore them, and that they’re your everything. Nine families don’t get that chance tonight.”
Her words capture the human toll behind the tragedy, offering a deeply personal glimpse into the fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak faced by those waiting for news in the aftermath of the Louisville UPS plane crash.





