One year has passed since American Airlines Flight 5342 went down, taking 28 members of the figure skating world. For coaches, families, and champions like Ilia Malinin, the grief is raw and the silence on the ice is deafening as they fight to honor the futures that were stolen.
As 1998 Olympic gold medalist Ilia Kulik and two-time Olympic coach Audrey Weisiger stepped outside Fairfax Ice Arena on a cold January morning a year ago, a heavy silence hung in the air. They knew there had been a midair collision over the Potomac River. They knew a group of young skaters, coaches, and families had been on the plane. But they weren’t certain who exactly was on that flight, or perhaps on a different flight returning from the national development camp in Wichita, Kansas.
It was 8 a.m. Thursday, January 30, 2025. “Olivia has a lesson now,” said Kulik, who now coaches in the Washington, D.C., suburbs. Olivia Eve Ter, 12, was one of his top young skaters. Weisiger looked at him, steeling herself. “Did you text her mom to see if they were on the flight?” Kulik’s response was a simple, heartbreaking plea: “I can’t do it. I’m shaking.”
So Weisiger took his phone and texted Olivia’s mother as they stood in the rink’s parking lot. They waited, staring at the phone. There was no reply. “Ilia, I don’t think they’re coming,” Weisiger said. “No, she’ll be here,” he insisted. The silence that followed was excruciating. “Ilia, they aren’t coming,” Weisiger finally said, softly. In that moment, one of the sport’s greatest champions, Kulik, collapsed to the pavement, sobbing uncontrollably. Olivia Eve Ter was one of 11 skaters to perish on Flight 5342. Her mother, Olesya Taylor, was also killed. In total, 28 members of the figure skating community and 64 others died.
The tragedy sent shockwaves through a tight-knit community. Ten miles away at his home rink in Reston, Virginia, world and national champion Ilia Malinin arrived for what should have been a four-to-six-hour practice session. He left after 30 minutes. “I knew I had to go to the rink,” Malinin said, “but it got so bad that I had no strength, mentally or physically, to skate. It was very hard for me to be around a skating rink, especially after what happened, knowing that a lot of them were part of my skating club and clubs that I knew. It’s really heartbreaking. It’s like their chances just disappear.”
This is the unique, brutal reality of figure skating. Unlike major league sports where coaches focus solely on professionals, the top coaches like Weisiger also train the next generation. While Weisiger coached Olympians and U.S. champions like Michael Weiss and Timothy Goebel, she was also giving lessons to young children and teenagers. Four of her students were on the plane: 12-year-old Brielle Beyer, 16-year-old Edward Zhou, 16-year-old Cory Haynos, and Olivia. A year later, Weisiger proudly recalled each of them, their personalities and triumphs still vivid.
Brielle, she said, “was this little sprite that motored around the rink and she was unstoppable.” Edward? “There was something so magical about little Eddie. … He was one of those kids that everybody felt joyful around.” Cory? “Right before they went to (Kansas), Cory achieved his triple axel, which was unbelievable.” And Olivia? “She was my last lesson with those kids before they went to Kansas. She said, ‘Coach Audrey, this is the biggest moment of my life, I’ve been working for so long to try and get to this camp. I’ll make you proud.’”
Now, when Weisiger visits the kids’ gravesites, disbelief often sets in. “I had never been to so many funerals for children in my life,” she said. The grief is not confined to the cemetery. Birthdays still come. Brielle’s father, Andy Beyer, recently hosted a celebration at his house to honor his daughter on what would have been her 13th birthday. Her friends from the neighborhood and skating observed a moment of silence when they lit the candle on a birthday cake and listened to one of the poems she had written, set to music. “It was a really special but hard and tearful moment,” he said. They released balloons into the night sky and walked through Brielle’s bedroom, where Andy proudly held up Post-It notes she left with her goals written on them. He cherishes the red jacket she earned for being invited to the national development camp. “I still have that national development team jacket that they sent me because, you know, unfortunately, she died wearing hers on the airplane.”
Sad reminders of the young lives lost began for Weisiger the day after the plane crash when a delivery came to Fairfax Ice Arena. The pro shop manager beckoned her to come see what it was. It was a box addressed to Edward Zhou. She opened it. Inside was a new pair of skates, a simple, devastating object that became a symbol of a future that would never be.
The rinks are quieter now. The absence of those young skaters’ laughter and the sound of their blades cutting the ice is a constant, painful reminder. The community continues to mourn, but they are also fighting to ensure these young athletes are never forgotten. Their stories, their dreams, and their passion for the sport live on, etched not in competitive results, but in the hearts of those who knew them and in the legacy they left behind.
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