On Saturday evening, Roselyne Oyaro boarded a KLM flight from Nairobi. Like so many travelers returning to Los Angeles after time back home, she was likely tired but joyful-carrying stories, laughter, and memories from Kenya.
The plane made a stopover in Amsterdam. In those quiet airport hours, she called a few friends, promised to talk more when she landed in Los Angeles, and then boarded the second leg of her journey.
That was the last time anyone heard from Roselyne.
Somewhere over the skies between Amsterdam and North America, everything changed. Roselyne experienced a sudden medical emergency. The plane was diverted to Yellowknife, Canada. Doctors on board tried everything they could, CPR and all-but tragically, it was not enough. She was pronounced dead at Stanton Territorial Hospital shortly after landing.
Roselyne was only 1 of 5 children-the only girl in a family of four brothers. A daughter of a retired Postal Corporation worker and a father who does casual jobs to make ends meet. She had carried the hopes of her family on her shoulders, quietly and faithfully, like so many in the diaspora do. She was their pride. Their helper. Their anchor.
Those who knew her in Long Beach, California, remember her as radiant. A nurse with a warm smile, a contagious laugh, and a heart that embraced everyone. She was the kind of person who made you feel seen, even on your worst day.
Roselyne did not get to return home the way she dreamed she would. Just a week ago, she was in Kenya, hugging loved ones, making memories. Now her body lies in a morgue in Canada
She will not have the homecoming she imagined-only the journey back in a box.
In a time like this, I am reminded of the words of The Book of Job:
“When I hoped for good, evil came. When I looked for light, then came darkness.”
This is one of those moments that shakes us-a moment that reminds us just how fragile and sacred life truly is.
There are still many unanswered questions. Our human nature longs for explanations in the face of the unimaginable. The preliminary report suggests pulmonary embolism, and the final autopsy will bring more clarity. But what Roselyne’s family needs most right now is not answers-it’s closure. To bring their daughter home.
There is nothing I can say or write that will heal the broken hearts of Roselyne’s family. This was their daughter. Rose was their niece. Their cousin. Their friend. Their joy. Their light.
In moments like this, words feel small against the weight of grief. So we turn to prayer-a prayer anchored in the words of The Prayer of St. Francis:
“Where there is sorrow, let me bring comfort.
Where there is darkness, let me bring light.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.”
But more than prayer, we can act. We can help this family bring Roselyne home.
If you are reading this, know that every contribution-no matter the size-carries more than money. It carries dignity. It carries love. It carries Roselyne home.
