For more than two weeks family members have waited anxiously for some word, any word, about the fate of their loved ones.
Two hundred thirty-nine people aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 had, for all practical purposes, disappeared in a freaky Bermuda-Triangle-worthy mystery.
No evidence of a landing.
No distress call.
For more than two weeks, talking heads in the news have spent hours upon hours speculating about the fate of the plane and its passengers and crew.
Satellite images, maps, charts, fancy graphics and innuendo ruled the airwaves.
Then again, it could be that…
Hope flamed up – perhaps they were hijacked and are alive somewhere.
Hope faded – possible wreckage has been spotted.
“Breaking News!” screamed the TV screen, when in fact it was not “breaking” news.
It was continuing coverage.
There was no new news to break.
So today, when Malaysian authorities gathered family members to “break” the news that all hope of survivors was gone, the result was more questions and additional dissatisfaction.
This still did not feel like “breaking” news.
This felt like additional speculation.
An educated guess, perhaps, but still a guess.
Perhaps there will be wreckage.
Perhaps, there will be some answers as to how, why, and where.
In the meantime, there is grief and anger.