The tragedy of the children who left and who will never come home
It is 15 summers ago now, but I still remember the tears at Dublin Airport.
We were heading away on our Big J1 Adventure, rucksacks stuffed with summer clothes and Barrys teabags. A clutch of parents waved us off in the departure lounge, forcing themselves into cheery smiles. But their brimming eyes and tear-stained cheeks gave the game away.
I was bemused. Why on earth were they crying? We were heading off to Chicago to have the best summer of our lives. What could possibly be so upsetting about that?