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Kelly Wen, wife of a Chinese passenger aboard Flight MH370, prays Friday during an event marking the plane’s disappearance.Vincent Thian/The Associated Press

It's been almost a year since Malay Mukherjee's son vanished, and the nights are still hard. In the dark moments before sleep, the thoughts come rushing back.

"You grieve because that's the time when you are all alone," he says.

It has been a cruel grief, a loss coloured by the constant uncertainty of a question no one has been able to answer: Where are Muktesh Mukherjee, his wife, Xiaomo Bai, and the other 237 people on board Malaysian Airlines Flight 370?

Just 40 minutes after takeoff from Kuala Lumpur on March 8, 2014, the plane lost contact. The couple were the only Canadians aboard the Boeing 777, and its fate has become the greatest aviation mystery of modern times. Dozens of countries have contributed to an ongoing $120-million search that has scoured vast areas of land and sea, but has yet to yield a single trace of the aircraft.

One year later, then, little has changed: Those on board are gone, and no one knows why. March 8 marks the anniversary of their disappearance, although the word itself doesn't fit.

"As you can understand, it's no anniversary," said Mr. Mukherjee, 67. "It's just that the grief is prolonged. Because when you come to the eighth, you think what the last one year has been. And then you still find that you have not had any closure. What gives us solace is that the children are doing well."

The children are Mirav, now 8, and Miles, who is three. They were in Beijing when their parents left for the quick Vietnam vacation that placed them on MH370. Muktesh Mukherjee, who was 42 last year, studied engineering at McGill and worked for an American coal exporter to China; Ms. Bai, who was 37, had worked in corporate marketing. Soon after their plane failed to arrive, Mr. Mukherjee and his wife, Uma, came to Beijing. For more than two months they lived in the city in an apartment two minutes' walk from their son's, trying to maintain their grandchildren's lives as they were.

In April, they left, moving back to their home in Mumbai. They enrolled Mirav in an international school, with a familiar curriculum and a similarly Western teaching faculty. Mirav has enrolled in swimming, tennis, robotics and drama. The school's counsellor checks in on him regularly, and he has gained an understanding of how his life has been permanently altered.

In late February, the family conducted a ritual memorial "for the well-being of the departed souls," Mr. Mukherjee said. Relatives came together to eat a meal and chant prayers. "We want the departed souls also to have peace."

Shortly after, Mirav spoke to his class about what happened, and explained his move from Beijing. "He has been quite transparent with his grief and his feelings, with his friends," Mr. Mukherjee said. Mirav told his classmates that "he always keeps up his hope that they will come back. But now he starts realizing that that may not happen any longer."

"He is quite mature for his age, for 8. To face such things openly and talk about it is not easy. He has his mood swings arising sometimes. But then he gets over it."

The dearth of information about what happened to MH370 has contributed to disparities in how families process their grief. In China, many continue to believe their loved ones are alive. In January, Malaysia officially declared the Boeing 777 lost, and its passengers dead. But in China, families have developed a deep skepticism of authorities whose information has often been incomplete and contradictory.

"I want to know the truth, but I also don't think families will get it from diplomats or embassies," said Wang Yongzhi, whose wife was on MH370. He was preparing to mark the weekend quietly, with candles lit in front of her photograph.

"My son asked if he could come back to accompany me that day, but I said no. I don't want my son to always live in sorrow," he said. "Life has to go on. No matter where my wife is, she doesn't want to see me sinking because of her."

In Malaysia and Beijing, groups of families have planned synchronized memorials. The Chinese side will gather near the airport. Hardship has brought some together in what Jiang Hui called "a big family," dedicated to keeping memories alive.

This weekend will provide a chance to "pray for our families, but also pass a message that for them, simply announcing that they are dead will not be the end."

Mr. Mukherjee and his family will spend the weekend together on a small vacation in Delhi, a city his grandchildren have never seen. He wants them to have "something else to look forward to, rather than only remembering what happened." Ms. Mukherjee, who lost her father in a plane crash, said talking about her loss remains difficult.

The past year for the family has been marked by travel, to Britain, the United States and Dubai. The Delhi family, which has built a comfortable life, brings Ms. Bai's parents along, in hopes of keeping their grandchildren in touch with the Chinese side of the family.

For Mr. Mukherjee, the presence of two orphaned children in his home is at once a source of sadness and comfort. "It brings a lot of solace to us, taking them to school, looking after their homework. It brings back memories of how we used to raise our own children."

The grandparents have sought to keep grief from overwhelming them. In the first weeks, they choked down emotion, keeping up "a brave face in order to make sure that we don't pull the children into this sorrow all the time," Mr. Mukherjee said. In their house in Mumbai, they have set up a "picture of the entire family, rather than only the two of them."

They want to "make life as normal as possible for the children."

Mr. Mukherjee has deliberately kept from reading some of the rampant speculation on what may have happened – of late, the prevailing theory is that a rogue pilot was responsible. But theories do little to answer questions, and they can distract from the things that, even a year later, need to be done. Last summer, Mr. Mukherjee and his wife went to Chicago to have his son declared dead by a court, so he could begin processing his estate. This past week, he was back in Illinois, where his son had property, still dealing with probate and other end-of-life matters.

It has been a long year, and dark thoughts sometimes intrude.

Mr. Mukherjee feels a sense of culpability, like somehow he must bear some fault for what happened to his son. "We have had this punishment. A punishment is always for something you don't do right," he said.

He sees value in that perspective, as a cause "to look at what you can do better." And, he says, the past year has brought moments of light, too. With friends, family and his son's co-workers, he has spent long hours reminiscing. "We do find it gives us a lot of peace to hear how they thought of him and how they enjoyed being with him," said. "You feel great to know that he was loved, that they were loved."

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