| Sinking to my knees, I bow into prayer once more. � Please, God . . . Don�t let this be wasted. Don�t let the deaths of all these innocents mean nothing. Help people see . . . Help show them that this doesn�t have to happen ever again . . .� Standing, I reach into my pocket and randomly dial a phone number. I realize I dialed my brother�s number just as another cellphone rang. Spinning wildly, I entertain the insane thought that maybe a simple phone would be the medium between living and dead. It was my brother. He reaches into his pocket and activates his cellphone. I stare in open-mouthed surprise at this possibility, but my hope is dashed a moment later. It�s his wife. � She�s dead . . . She�s dead . . .� That was all he could say. She and I had never really gotten along too well, but I trusted her to take care of him now that I was . . . Was what? Dead? . . . Yes. I was dead. I move around, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek for all their hard work and help and faith. I turn my back on the scene and begin to walk away. I pause to give a final, whispered good-bye to my family. Then I allow death to take me. But it still isn�t right . . . I wasn�t supposed to die . . . No one was supposed to die . . . Again, this is for the families and victims of September 11. I wish well for you and yours and join you in your mourning. All my respect for those who died protecting us. <--Back To WTC Page--> |