“Tom’s last act on earth was one of the most courageous things imaginable. His last words to his wife are among the most inspiring I’ve ever heard. I’ll never forget Tom’s last words. I hope you won’t either.”
This year, 17 years after the fatal attacks, the tradition continues. Never forget.
“When I woke up, I heard the shower going. Then I heard someone leave the apartment. I rushed to Mike and Elena’s bedroom and hollered for him. No response, so I kept hollering, ‘Mike, Mike are you in there?'”
“I remember beginning to feel different, very sad. I felt like driving off a bridge was a good idea. All of my inhibitions were out the window. I called my doctor and said ‘Something isn’t right.'”
“I was lying on the operating table, 18 years old, a first time mother, asking God to let my girl live. My daughter was going to die. We didn’t know exactly when, but we were told she would and to expect it soon.”
“The waiting room where now 6 times I have had to embarrassingly walk by other waiting patients, puffy, red and with mascara dripping down my cheeks.”
“Personal effects like my notepads – so he can see what my writing was like. Or the perfume he helped pick out for me earlier this year so he’ll remember my smell.”
“The floodgates broke, and I sobbed uncontrollably. Was I less of a mother because of how my baby was being delivered? It was the worst thing that could have been said to me.”
“Looking at her reflection she is forced to blink to see clearly. Her gray hair is set in curlers. She is thinking about all the friends and family she has outlived. She considers bending down to fix her knee-high stocking, but instead, sighs deeply.
“I remember laying in my bed, crying, and asking God why He would make me if He was going to send me to Hell.”