In a devastating update that has shattered hearts across America, authorities in Louisville have officially identified a beloved grandfather and his tiny 3-year-old granddaughter as two of the latest victims in the horrific UPS Flight 2976 catastrophe, bringing the confirmed death toll to 13 as search teams comb through the smoldering wreckage. Louisnes “Lou” Fedon, 47, a devoted family man known for his infectious laugh and endless grandpa duties, and his adorable granddaughter Kimberly Asa, a bubbly toddler with curls that lit up every room, were tragically visiting an auto parts yard when the massive MD-11 cargo jet plummeted from the sky on November 4, 2025, turning their ordinary day into an unthinkable nightmare of fire and loss.

The Jefferson County Coroner’s Office released their names on November 8, after painstaking DNA matching amid the charred chaos south of Louisville Muhammad Ali International Airport. “Lou was the heart of our family—he lived for those grandkids,” his grieving daughter posted on a GoFundMe that has skyrocketed past $200,000. “Kimberly was his little shadow, only 3 years old, full of giggles and princess dreams. They didn’t deserve this.” Photos flooding social media show Lou hoisting Kimberly on his shoulders at pumpkin patches, her tiny hands clutching his shirt—the last happy moments before a routine UPS freight run to Honolulu erupted into hell.

What unfolded that fateful night was pure apocalypse: UPS Flight 2976, a 34-year-old McDonnell Douglas beast loaded with over 38,000 gallons of jet fuel, was barreling down the runway when its left General Electric CF6 engine violently detached in a fireball. Airport video captured the horror—the engine ripping free, the plane lurching skyward to a mere 475 feet at 210 mph before nosediving straight into Grade A Auto Parts and Kentucky Petroleum Recycling. The impact unleashed a bomb-like detonation, scattering debris half a mile and igniting secondary blasts that engulfed everything in flames. “It was like a war zone,” one firefighter recounted, voice trembling. Over 200 responders battled the inferno for days, with black smoke visible from downtown and spot fires flaring unpredictably.

Lou and Kimberly were at Grade A Auto Parts—Lou picking up parts for his weekend fixer-upper projects, Kimberly tagging along for the “adventure” with her favorite grandpa. They never stood a chance as the jet’s fuselage tore through the building, vaporizing lives in an instant. Another ground victim, 52-year-old John Loucks, a longtime employee and beloved uncle, was also confirmed among the rubble, his family clinging to faded work photos. The three UPS pilots—Captain Richard Wartenberg from Kentucky, First Officer Lee Truitt from New Mexico, and Relief Captain Dana Diamond from Texas—perished in the cockpit, their black boxes revealing 25 seconds of blaring alarms and desperate maydays.

Now at 13 confirmed dead—three crew and ten on the ground—with searches ongoing for possible more, the tragedy has gutted Louisville. Fifteen injured survivors, many with third-degree burns, overwhelm University of Louisville Health’s burn unit, which went into full disaster protocol. A shelter-in-place order blanketed neighborhoods as toxic plumes wafted, and the airport shut down, stranding cargo worldwide.

Mayor Craig Greenberg, fighting back sobs at press briefings, called it “a wound that will never fully heal—especially for families like the Fedons, robbed of generations in a blink.” Teamsters Local 89 organized massive vigils, thousands holding candles under rainy skies, chanting names: Lou, Kimberly, John, the pilots, and others yet to be fully identified. UPS, whose Worldport hub employs 26,000 locals, issued a tearful statement: “We mourn with the families of all affected, including these innocent community members. Support is our promise.”

The NTSB’s preliminary probe, fueled by recovered flight data showing undetected pylon cracks and that damning runway video of the engine separation, points to mechanical betrayal—not pilot error. Why was this aging trijet, fresh from Texas maintenance, cleared for a fuel-heavy Pacific crossing? The FAA’s nationwide MD-11 grounding, mirrored by UPS and FedEx, has crippled holiday shipping, but pales against the human cost. Lawsuits are mounting against UPS, Boeing, and GE, alleging corner-cutting on inspections for profit.

GoFundMes for the Fedon-Asa family paint a portrait of joy stolen: Lou, a hardworking dad of teens, coaching Little League; Kimberly, starting preschool, obsessed with unicorns. “She was just learning to say ‘I love you, Papa,'” one relative shared. Now, teddy bears pile at makeshift memorials near the crash site, guarded by FBI as cleanup drags amid hazards.

Louisville, a city where everyone knows a UPSer, unites in outrage and sorrow. Flags fly low through November, hotlines buzz (UPS family aid: 800-631-0604), and counselors swarm schools where kids whisper about the “big boom.” This wasn’t just a crash—it was a theft of innocence, a grandpa’s hug and a little girl’s laughter silenced forever.

As the coroner vows more names soon, the world weeps for Lou and Kimberly—the doting duo whose story reminds us how fragile life is. In their memory, hold your loved ones tighter tonight. The skies took them, but their light burns eternal in a community forever changed.