Reba McEntire knows what it’s like to go through tough times. In 1991, something really sad happened to her. While she was performing at a big event in San Diego, a plane crash happened after the show. Her tour manager and seven band members, who were like family to her, died in the crash.
The crash happened on March 16, 1991, right after Reba and her band gave an amazing performance.
After the show, some of the band members were supposed to fly to Fort Wayne, Indiana, for the next concert. Reba, her husband Narvel Blackstock, and her stylist Sandi Spika stayed in San Diego for the night. They didn’t get on the plane that crashed.
In 2012, Reba McEntire talked about what happened in a sad interview with Oprah Winfrey. The second plane that took off safely reached its destination.
But sadly, the first plane crashed only ten miles away from the airport. This crash changed the lives of the people left behind forever.
Reba told Oprah that the first plane crashed into a boulder on the edge of Otay Mountain, and everyone on board died. When they heard the news, Reba’s husband Narvel talked to their pilot.
Narvel came back to the hotel room late at night, around two or three in the morning, where Reba was waiting. The tragedy made the atmosphere heavy. Narvel told Reba that one of the planes crashed.
Reba asked about their friends, hoping they were okay. But Narvel’s answer made her lose hope. He said, “I don’t think so,” which made them both feel unsure.
Reba and Narvel wanted to know all the details about what happened to their loved ones. Reba’s voice shook with real sadness as she talked about how Narvel looked for answers on the phone. She said, “It’s been 20 years, but the sadness never really goes away.” Reba remembered how Narvel paced around, feeling really sad.
Reba found comfort in her close friends, like Vince Gill and Dolly Parton. After the tragedy, they offered to help finish the tour, but Reba said no.
Instead, she focused on healing herself. She poured her heart into her next album, “For My Broken Heart.” It was a way to remember her lost friends and show her love for them.
The album did really well. It debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Top Country Albums chart and sold four million copies.
Every year, Reba McEntire remembers the people who died in a sad incident. She uses social media to keep their memory alive. In 2014, she made a special post on Instagram to remember the anniversary of the crash.
Then, in 2016, on the 25th anniversary of the tragedy, Reba went to San Diego, a place that was important to her because of what happened. She shared this important journey on social media with her fans, so they could see how she was doing.
Reba wrote a heartfelt message herself. She said, “Today is the 25th anniversary of the plane crash. I went back to San Diego in November and took a helicopter to the crash site. I felt like the people who died knew how much we miss them. I send my condolences and prayers to all the families and friends affected by this tragedy.”
My Neighbors Left a Note That Shattered My Heart — My Granddaughter Discovered It and Gave Them a Learning Experience
The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
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