I knew you before I met you, through the stories I was told by the woman you raised. I knew of your wit, and your laughter, and of the way your personality brightened the room. I knew of your recipes, ones I enjoy even now. I knew how you were a supportive mother, a friend to your daughters, and that you were the apple of a good man's eye. I knew of your heart, and of your values, and of the things that made you the woman you were.
And I love the family you raised, loved, and cared for. All of the wonderful people who now miss you every moment. My life would have been richer for knowing you in the way that your children and your husband do. It would have been a joy to see your face when your daughter expressed her love for me, and to have the chance to be more of a son to you. But I have the stories and the few fleeting memories of our interaction. I have the memory of hearing you sing when you were unable to truly fathom the pleasure it brought when you did. I have the experience of seeing you smile, no matter how far away you really were. I was there in your presence, with the love your daughters and husband held firmly in their heart, I understand who you were.
Fear not the darkness that clouded your own memories, for in Gina, Tess, and Thomas, I will forever know who you were. I will see your face smiling at me from the pictures your daughter creates with the skill you encouraged. I will feel your presence when we sit together as a family once again. I will toast you at Samhain, eating apples in your honor. I will hang memories of you gleefully on the tree at Yule, and I will ever savor your Tourtière at New Year's dinner. I will give you a place at any table I may be seated at.
In the silence that falls, I shall strive to be a part of the lives you cherished. To care for them as best I can, and to see the legacy you left when you were finally set free from the fog that kept your soul bound to this life.
Sing with glee and fly away content in the knowing that we will remember you.
Always.
For Christine Terzino, and her beautiful family that I am allowed to love.
Merry Meet
Merry Part
Merry Meet Again.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
What's Up?
It's been long enough since I've written, so here goes.
The Holiday season has come and gone -with it, my traditional Christmas post (alas, no Angus), the Jen's birthday post, and my New Year's post. I've been doing other things like living my damned life and dealing with the latest issues of a bad engine in Krahe and getting through the recent rash of snow storms. So, you might ask, what am I going to do about it?
Maybe I'll just reflect on the fact that I set unreasonable expectations for myself when it comes to writing tasks, or accept that I just missed posting something to mark the passing of time. Or perhaps I'll write a bunch of late blogs and get them up. I haven't really decided yet, but I'm writing now and I think it's important to cover SOME of these items.
Christmas was a mad rush. I spent too much money on things that may or may not be important to the recipients. I can now reflect on that fact and I honestly think that one of these days I'll actually put my money where my mouth is and give to various charities in the names of the people on my gift-giving list. Everyone in my family (both blood and chosen) has enough of everything, so why not give to those less fortunate souls in the world? Next year, I think I'll buy a dozen blankets, hats, pairs of gloves, and meal vouchers and give to random homeless people instead. I've got plenty of all of those things, and it might actually be some small gesture that makes a difference in the lives of those who don't.
I would like to buy the world a Coke, so to speak.
There was a post on Facebook that linked to a story about a young man who purchased one of those month-long passes to Olive Garden and gave food to the needy. It touched me, and made me realize that such a small gift can make such a significant impact to the hungry. I gave to the food bank this year - a local market had a promotion where you could buy a can of soup (A CAN OF SOUP) and have it added to your bill. Every day I went to lunch, I'd buy a few and all told I probably bought a whole case. Now a case of soup doesn't seem like much, but added to the cat food at the local pet store chain, the donation to the food box at work, the Salvation Army can donations, and all the other small offerings I took part in, I think I can honestly say that I did some good this year. Well, I think I did, anyway.
New Year's Eve was the old hockey game at the Manchester Monarchs. It will be the last one of those since they are leaving Manchester for CA, and who knows what ECHL team will occupy the vacancy. It was the kind of event that leaves me scratching my head, though. In Providence, going to a P Bruins game is about the hockey. There's not all that much in the way of catering to the families (at least not in any game I've gone to. You go to see the hockey game and that's pretty much what you get. Manchester gives everything it's got to entertain the family - various activities and entertainment between periods, giveaways, and that damned envelope-pooping blimp that circles the rink and makes the kids go wild. I'll take the hockey, thank you very much. All in all though, it was a really good night. A phone call to my loved ones at midnight and a toast with my lovelies and all was well. New Year's Day was a great time at Home, North with my sister and her new beaux and Gina spending the day with Jen and I playing Cards Against Humanity and eating delicious food. Next year, we gotta remember that there is pork in the meat pie though. Oops! Not everyone eats pork. ;-)
In the middle was Dear Jennifer's birthday. We went for delicious Indian food at a local place in Salem -Kashmir, followed by dessert and wine at another local place -The Tuscan Chicken, er, Kitchen. It was a really nice night.
Through all of this, I realize how lucky a man I am. I have good family, a fabulous life filled with love and understanding, and I'm ever grateful for the ability to just be ME while not taking those I love for granted. We laugh, love, and lean on each other through it all. What's better than a life filled with happiness? Nothing, as far as I'm concerned.
So there. The last two months in a nutshell. And I've written.
Tah Dah!
Now to write an Angus piece and see if I can't jog some Fornits loose from this keyboard.
Ja Ne!
m
The Holiday season has come and gone -with it, my traditional Christmas post (alas, no Angus), the Jen's birthday post, and my New Year's post. I've been doing other things like living my damned life and dealing with the latest issues of a bad engine in Krahe and getting through the recent rash of snow storms. So, you might ask, what am I going to do about it?
Maybe I'll just reflect on the fact that I set unreasonable expectations for myself when it comes to writing tasks, or accept that I just missed posting something to mark the passing of time. Or perhaps I'll write a bunch of late blogs and get them up. I haven't really decided yet, but I'm writing now and I think it's important to cover SOME of these items.
Christmas was a mad rush. I spent too much money on things that may or may not be important to the recipients. I can now reflect on that fact and I honestly think that one of these days I'll actually put my money where my mouth is and give to various charities in the names of the people on my gift-giving list. Everyone in my family (both blood and chosen) has enough of everything, so why not give to those less fortunate souls in the world? Next year, I think I'll buy a dozen blankets, hats, pairs of gloves, and meal vouchers and give to random homeless people instead. I've got plenty of all of those things, and it might actually be some small gesture that makes a difference in the lives of those who don't.
I would like to buy the world a Coke, so to speak.
There was a post on Facebook that linked to a story about a young man who purchased one of those month-long passes to Olive Garden and gave food to the needy. It touched me, and made me realize that such a small gift can make such a significant impact to the hungry. I gave to the food bank this year - a local market had a promotion where you could buy a can of soup (A CAN OF SOUP) and have it added to your bill. Every day I went to lunch, I'd buy a few and all told I probably bought a whole case. Now a case of soup doesn't seem like much, but added to the cat food at the local pet store chain, the donation to the food box at work, the Salvation Army can donations, and all the other small offerings I took part in, I think I can honestly say that I did some good this year. Well, I think I did, anyway.
New Year's Eve was the old hockey game at the Manchester Monarchs. It will be the last one of those since they are leaving Manchester for CA, and who knows what ECHL team will occupy the vacancy. It was the kind of event that leaves me scratching my head, though. In Providence, going to a P Bruins game is about the hockey. There's not all that much in the way of catering to the families (at least not in any game I've gone to. You go to see the hockey game and that's pretty much what you get. Manchester gives everything it's got to entertain the family - various activities and entertainment between periods, giveaways, and that damned envelope-pooping blimp that circles the rink and makes the kids go wild. I'll take the hockey, thank you very much. All in all though, it was a really good night. A phone call to my loved ones at midnight and a toast with my lovelies and all was well. New Year's Day was a great time at Home, North with my sister and her new beaux and Gina spending the day with Jen and I playing Cards Against Humanity and eating delicious food. Next year, we gotta remember that there is pork in the meat pie though. Oops! Not everyone eats pork. ;-)
In the middle was Dear Jennifer's birthday. We went for delicious Indian food at a local place in Salem -Kashmir, followed by dessert and wine at another local place -The Tuscan Chicken, er, Kitchen. It was a really nice night.
Through all of this, I realize how lucky a man I am. I have good family, a fabulous life filled with love and understanding, and I'm ever grateful for the ability to just be ME while not taking those I love for granted. We laugh, love, and lean on each other through it all. What's better than a life filled with happiness? Nothing, as far as I'm concerned.
So there. The last two months in a nutshell. And I've written.
Tah Dah!
Now to write an Angus piece and see if I can't jog some Fornits loose from this keyboard.
Ja Ne!
m
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Reverent Whisper
Lisa Ann swung her tiny legs back and forth as she sat in the chair. It was a nice chair, deeply piled and covered in soft, thick velvet that felt fuzzy against the back of her legs, tickling her just a little. Lisa Ann waited for quite a long time. She’d colored in her coloring book, drawn pictures of her and her brother playing together, made a card for her Mom, and generally been a good girl. Lisa Ann was 5.
After quite a while, the noises from the other room seemed to start being louder, then quiet again. She wondered if she could go in there now, but didn’t want to be a bad girl. So she kept waiting, hoping that Mommy would come and get her soon. Her brother was in there with everyone, and she was very, very mad about that. Mikey wasn’t that much older than she was, so why did he get to be in there with the adults (and everyone else) while there was crying going on? She’d have to ask Mommy about that later in the car after she’d had a nap, of course. Riding in the car always made Lisa Ann sleepy. She kept on swinging her legs, listening for the voices to finally start coming closer.
The voices were very quiet now, practically whispers. She could hear Daddy and Mommy arguing just a little, like they used to before Daddy moved into his new apartment. She wasn’t sure what they were saying, but she could hear them like she used to, and they were moving farther away. Lisa Ann was very impatient now. She slid off the big chair and onto the thick carpet, feeling her dress slide up her legs as she did. The velvet tickled her legs, and she had some pins and needles in her feet, but she stayed very quiet. Good girls were quiet. Mikey told her that, and Mommy seemed to like it when Lisa Ann did the things that Mikey suggested. He was smart, but not always a good boy. Mommy yelled at Mikey sometimes, but she didn’t yell at Lisa Ann at all. She was a good girl, though she wondered why Mikey didn’t just do the same things he told Lisa Ann to do. She decided that she would ask him when she saw him, and nodded firmly.
The voices were now silent.
Lisa Ann crossed the room to the door. It was quiet. She hoped it would stay that way, and padded quietly down the hall. There were still no voices close, and she felt a little bit excited at sneaking like this. She didn’t sneak often, and this was a special treat in her mind – a delicious bit of being willful, knowing that she might be doing something just a little against the rules. Lisa Ann poked her head around the corner and saw the mostly empty room. She crossed it, dodging chairs and found her brother. HE was quiet, and she pulled up a nearby chair. He stayed quiet, and she thought to herself that Mikey must be trying very hard to be a good boy. She turned her head and looked around. Still, the room was empty, so she pulled the chair closer to Mikey and took his hand in hers. He didn’t pull it away.
“Mikey? How come you got to be in here with Mommy and Daddy tonight?”
“I just was Ell.” He only called her that when he was trying to tell her something she should be good about.
“Are Mommy and Daddy fighting? I thought I heard Mommy crying, but I wasn’t sure. Mommy always cried when they were fighting.”
“No, Ell. Not tonight. Mommy and Daddy were not fighting, but I don’t think they are back together, either. You were a good girl, right?”
“I was!” Lisa Ann smiled and nodded as she spoke. “I made Mommy a card. Want to see it?” She waved the card in her hand, never letting go of Mikey.
“It’s pretty. She’s going to like it a lot. Listen, Ell, you have to listen to me, okay?”
“Sure, Mikey.” Lisa Ann leaned in very close. Mikey had his teddy bear in his other hand. “Can I hold your bear?”
“I’m going to hold it for a while, okay?” he squeezed it tighter.
“Okay. What do you want me to do, Mikey?”
“You are going to have to be a very good girl for Mommy. She’s really going to need that. Daddy, too. I think you are going to have to be a good girl for a long time.”
Lisa Ann made a face. “I’m always a good girl, you know. I just forget sometimes.”
“I know, Ell. But Mommy and Daddy were talking about a lot of sad things, and I want to make sure that you are just going to be good so they don’t have to get mad. If you do get yelled at, try not to cry, okay?”
“What sad things? Daddy has a nice place, and I like our bedroom there…” she trailed off, squeezing Mikey’s hand.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Mikey whispered.
“Yes!” Lisa Ann liked secrets. She was a very good secret keeper.
“I’m not going home with you tonight. Mommy will talk about it more, but I’m just not. Not tonight.”
“Oh.” Lisa Ann was a little sad about this. Sometimes Mikey would sleep over Daddy’s house when she didn’t, and she missed him. It was nice to be able to snuggle with Mommy, and sometimes Mikey would leave her a note on her pillow, just in case she missed him. Lisa Ann kept every one of his notes. “Are you sleeping over Daddy’s?”
“No. But just be good for Mommy, okay? It’s really important.”
“I will, Mikey.” Lisa Ann fidgeted in the chair. It wasn’t as nice as the red one she was sitting in before, but it was still fuzzy against her legs. “Are you sad too, Mikey?”
“Yes. A little. It’s hard to explain to you, Ell. I love you. You’re the best sister ever.”
“I love you, too. You’re the best brother ever!” Lisa Ann beamed. She leaned in and gave him a hug and a kiss.
“Thanks, Ell. I’m really tired. Is Mommy coming back?”
“I don’t know. I heard them going somewhere else. That’s why I came to see…”
“It’s okay. Here…” Mikey held out the bear to her. “You take this for now. Don’t lose it, okay?”
Lisa Ann hugged the bear close to her face. She could smell her brother on it. “Thanks, Mikey. I promise I won’t lose it.”
“I didn’t leave you a note, but you know that I always miss you.” He paused, “Always.”
“I know, Mikey. I miss you too.” She was hugging the bear as she spoke. “I think Mommy is coming…” Mikey must have fallen asleep. Maybe he just needed a nap, Lisa Ann thought to herself. She hugged the bear and held his hand. She might get yelled at for being in here, but she didn’t think so. The room was pretty, now that she looked around a little more. There were flowers and candles, and it smelled like Mommy’s garden in the springtime.
Lisa Ann’s mother and father walked slowly into the room together. Her mother fell into deep, muffled sobs when she saw her daughter sitting by the small casket holding her brother’s bear.
The tears flowed freely, and her heart broke again.
fin
After quite a while, the noises from the other room seemed to start being louder, then quiet again. She wondered if she could go in there now, but didn’t want to be a bad girl. So she kept waiting, hoping that Mommy would come and get her soon. Her brother was in there with everyone, and she was very, very mad about that. Mikey wasn’t that much older than she was, so why did he get to be in there with the adults (and everyone else) while there was crying going on? She’d have to ask Mommy about that later in the car after she’d had a nap, of course. Riding in the car always made Lisa Ann sleepy. She kept on swinging her legs, listening for the voices to finally start coming closer.
The voices were very quiet now, practically whispers. She could hear Daddy and Mommy arguing just a little, like they used to before Daddy moved into his new apartment. She wasn’t sure what they were saying, but she could hear them like she used to, and they were moving farther away. Lisa Ann was very impatient now. She slid off the big chair and onto the thick carpet, feeling her dress slide up her legs as she did. The velvet tickled her legs, and she had some pins and needles in her feet, but she stayed very quiet. Good girls were quiet. Mikey told her that, and Mommy seemed to like it when Lisa Ann did the things that Mikey suggested. He was smart, but not always a good boy. Mommy yelled at Mikey sometimes, but she didn’t yell at Lisa Ann at all. She was a good girl, though she wondered why Mikey didn’t just do the same things he told Lisa Ann to do. She decided that she would ask him when she saw him, and nodded firmly.
The voices were now silent.
Lisa Ann crossed the room to the door. It was quiet. She hoped it would stay that way, and padded quietly down the hall. There were still no voices close, and she felt a little bit excited at sneaking like this. She didn’t sneak often, and this was a special treat in her mind – a delicious bit of being willful, knowing that she might be doing something just a little against the rules. Lisa Ann poked her head around the corner and saw the mostly empty room. She crossed it, dodging chairs and found her brother. HE was quiet, and she pulled up a nearby chair. He stayed quiet, and she thought to herself that Mikey must be trying very hard to be a good boy. She turned her head and looked around. Still, the room was empty, so she pulled the chair closer to Mikey and took his hand in hers. He didn’t pull it away.
“Mikey? How come you got to be in here with Mommy and Daddy tonight?”
“I just was Ell.” He only called her that when he was trying to tell her something she should be good about.
“Are Mommy and Daddy fighting? I thought I heard Mommy crying, but I wasn’t sure. Mommy always cried when they were fighting.”
“No, Ell. Not tonight. Mommy and Daddy were not fighting, but I don’t think they are back together, either. You were a good girl, right?”
“I was!” Lisa Ann smiled and nodded as she spoke. “I made Mommy a card. Want to see it?” She waved the card in her hand, never letting go of Mikey.
“It’s pretty. She’s going to like it a lot. Listen, Ell, you have to listen to me, okay?”
“Sure, Mikey.” Lisa Ann leaned in very close. Mikey had his teddy bear in his other hand. “Can I hold your bear?”
“I’m going to hold it for a while, okay?” he squeezed it tighter.
“Okay. What do you want me to do, Mikey?”
“You are going to have to be a very good girl for Mommy. She’s really going to need that. Daddy, too. I think you are going to have to be a good girl for a long time.”
Lisa Ann made a face. “I’m always a good girl, you know. I just forget sometimes.”
“I know, Ell. But Mommy and Daddy were talking about a lot of sad things, and I want to make sure that you are just going to be good so they don’t have to get mad. If you do get yelled at, try not to cry, okay?”
“What sad things? Daddy has a nice place, and I like our bedroom there…” she trailed off, squeezing Mikey’s hand.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Mikey whispered.
“Yes!” Lisa Ann liked secrets. She was a very good secret keeper.
“I’m not going home with you tonight. Mommy will talk about it more, but I’m just not. Not tonight.”
“Oh.” Lisa Ann was a little sad about this. Sometimes Mikey would sleep over Daddy’s house when she didn’t, and she missed him. It was nice to be able to snuggle with Mommy, and sometimes Mikey would leave her a note on her pillow, just in case she missed him. Lisa Ann kept every one of his notes. “Are you sleeping over Daddy’s?”
“No. But just be good for Mommy, okay? It’s really important.”
“I will, Mikey.” Lisa Ann fidgeted in the chair. It wasn’t as nice as the red one she was sitting in before, but it was still fuzzy against her legs. “Are you sad too, Mikey?”
“Yes. A little. It’s hard to explain to you, Ell. I love you. You’re the best sister ever.”
“I love you, too. You’re the best brother ever!” Lisa Ann beamed. She leaned in and gave him a hug and a kiss.
“Thanks, Ell. I’m really tired. Is Mommy coming back?”
“I don’t know. I heard them going somewhere else. That’s why I came to see…”
“It’s okay. Here…” Mikey held out the bear to her. “You take this for now. Don’t lose it, okay?”
Lisa Ann hugged the bear close to her face. She could smell her brother on it. “Thanks, Mikey. I promise I won’t lose it.”
“I didn’t leave you a note, but you know that I always miss you.” He paused, “Always.”
“I know, Mikey. I miss you too.” She was hugging the bear as she spoke. “I think Mommy is coming…” Mikey must have fallen asleep. Maybe he just needed a nap, Lisa Ann thought to herself. She hugged the bear and held his hand. She might get yelled at for being in here, but she didn’t think so. The room was pretty, now that she looked around a little more. There were flowers and candles, and it smelled like Mommy’s garden in the springtime.
Lisa Ann’s mother and father walked slowly into the room together. Her mother fell into deep, muffled sobs when she saw her daughter sitting by the small casket holding her brother’s bear.
The tears flowed freely, and her heart broke again.
fin
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Black Friday
Jerry was freezing as he stood outside the locked doors of
Malcom’s. He’d never even been in the parking lot before last night, let alone
shopped there. But the price on the Merry Mermaid doll that his daughter had
been talking about was simply too irresistible. He had to have one for her, and
since his soon-to-be-ex-wife was too fucking cheap to spring for it, Jerry
froze his ass off with barely more than the price of the doll in his bank
account and waited for the store to open. Now, Wal-Mart had opened at 6:00 PM
last night, but the Malcom’s price was much better, although he was assured
when he asked the clerk on the phone Wednesday that there would be a limited
number of dolls available. That’s when Jerry decided to skip the shitty
turkey roll his sister made and camped out in front of the store. He had
to have one. Just this once, he wanted his daughter to get something she
actually asked for. Just. This. Once.
Jerry had been here too long already. His legs were sore,
and his back ached, and his fingers were thick lumps of meat waiting to be
sliced into party-sized pepperoni. But in just three more minutes, Jerry would
make a beeline for the toy department and…shit. “Where was the toy
department?” he wondered. He leaned in and tried to see if there was a sign. Nothing.
He hadn’t thought about this until right now. Right now. Three, no TWO minutes
before the store opened. He turned to the woman beside him, a largish sturdy
woman with a scarf and hat covering what little was left exposed by her heavy
coat. “You wouldn’t know where the toy department is in here, do you?” He
smiled a friendly, if chilled smile.
“Fuck off, buddy. Next time, do your homework.” The woman
barked at him and laughed. She turned to face her friend, “Fucking Einstein shows up
to a store and doesn’t even know where shit is. Fucking moron.”
Her friend laughed nervously, sounding mostly like she was
scared to do anything else. She was a much younger, much thinner woman, her
blonde hair springing out from under her red hat. Jerry caught her eye
with his own, a look of desperation on his face. He opened his eyes wider in a
silent beg. He darted his eyes, hoping she would pick up on the visual cues.
She did, thankfully. She moved her eyes up then right, and then repeated the
motions. He nodded, understanding. Straight in and then right. The toys must be
in the back of the store. He eased up a little. One minute.
The Thick Woman jostled him against the door, laughing at
his surprise. Jerry turned to face her, really pissed off. As he began to turn
his shoulders towards her, the doors sprung open and she pushed his chest hard,
sending him sprawling into the security pole alongside the entryway. Jerry was
flailing, trying to regain his balance as the crowd poured into the store. He
panicked when he saw the number of people rushing past. “Shit!” he cried,
getting steady to his feet and breaking into a run. “I hope that fat fuck dies
in this”
He ran as directed, looking right again and again to gage
where the hell the toys were. Then he saw the sign, skidded right, and broke
into a full run as he saw more people looking at him from other aisles. They
descended on the toy department like starving locusts to a cornfield. Shelves
were stripped clean as they passed, but Jerry wheeled and spun, searching for
his treasure. He saw the pile almost too late, as there were only three left
when he got to the pallet in the aisle way. He reached through the throng of
rabid shoppers and grabbed one of the boxes, his heart beating hard in triumph.
As he pulled the box through the flailing mass, he felt a sudden tug. The Thick
Woman had her hands on Jerry’s doll, her eyes narrowed to slits and she barked
at him “Loser!” as she pulled the toy from his grip.
Jerry lost it. He sprung over the heads of the struggling
crowd and landed hard on The Thick Woman. She fell to her knees and sent the
doll spiraling away under a rack adorned with smiling elves and children’s
coats. He scampered after it on his hands and knees, scurrying at first before
getting his feet under him. He grabbed the doll and began to run down towards
the registers, the voice in his head screaming at him “JERRY! IT’S A FUCKING
DOLL!” “Goddamned right it’s a fucking doll. It’s MY fucking doll, and that fat
fuck isn’t going to get it” he answered to himself as he admired the red hair
and bright smile of the toy.
The Thick Woman slammed her carriage into Jerry from behind,
hard. His heel blossomed in pain and Jerry fell onto the white tile. Blood
exploded from his nose and his forehead as his face struck the floor. He was in
agony. The Thick Woman picked up the doll, leaned down, and told Jerry to go
fuck himself before retrieving her cart and dropping the doll in with the other
items. Jerry struggled against the encroaching gray around the edges of his
vision. Blackness threatened to take him, and his body wanted to give into that
silent bliss. He heard The Thick Woman laugh from somewhere out in the
nearby aisles.
Jerry got to his feet and fought against the dizziness. He
could see The Thick Woman sauntering triumphantly down the lane, the seams of
her pants threatening to burst their banks and flood the store with her
dimpled, gelatinous cellulite. He focused like a cat on a mouse and decided
that he was not going to lose his doll to her. Not ever. He moved slowly,
stalking her though the store. He pushed other carriages out of the way, once
actually walking almost a full aisle with someone’s overfull cart. The owner
yelled, but Jerry paid no mind. If the chance ever came. he'd kill her with his own bare hands.
He caught up with The Thick Woman in the garden center. She
was rifling through a large bin stuffed with small stuffed animals. Her back
was towards him the whole time. Jerry grabbed a cart full of snow shovels and
pushed it past her in the slow procession of others trying to get by. Thinking how delicious it would be to strangle her instead, he
reached out as he passed, lifting the doll from her abductor and returning it
to her rightful home: Jerry’s arms. He pushed silently past, ditched the
carriage so it would impede her potential pursuit, and made a dash for the
registers.
Jerry was free, and the Merry Mermaid would bring a smile to
his daughter in a time when there were few smiles to be had. He saw The Thick
Woman cross in front of his car, barking at Blondie the whole time. Blondie did
a double take as she saw Jerry through the windshield. Jerry winked, feeling
cheerful for the first time all morning. His head ached, his nose throbbed, but
Jerry was one happy guy. He beat that old bitch to the present of the season
and he would never have to look at her fucking face again, since this was the
last time he would ever come to this shitty store.
Home and clean, Jerry grabbed a plate of cheese and crackers
and dropped into one of the old stools that served as kitchen seating. His
recently-furnished bachelor pad was decorated in “Modern Ghetto” as he put it.
But after the big D was finalized, he would invest in something better. Either
way, his daughter would have a good Christmas this year. Jerry slid one
of the slices of cheese into his mouth as he flipped on the countertop TV to
watch the news. The segment was apparently on the “Black Friday Mayhem” that
occurred all over the nation, and several videos of trampling and stampedes,
one of a woman and a midget fighting over a 40” TV at Target or something, and
then several of people fist fighting at registers. Jerry chuckled at the
videos, remembering his own struggle this morning. The announcer, a
good-looking woman in her 40’s dressed in a festive (and very low-cut) dress
that flattered her shape, turned the story over to Chuck, who would share a
local tale of sadness.
Jerry sat bolt upright. The Thick Woman was on the screen,
tear tracks staining her face. Blondie held her arm. “Margie Swanson went out
this morning to buy gifts for Saint Cecelia’s Home for Lost Children, a shelter
for abused and abandoned children. What she found, instead, was the violence of
an angry man.
“I was so shocked when I was attacked by this horrible man,”
The Thick Woman explained through tears, “and then I realized later that he
stole the doll from my carriage when I wasn’t looking. Renee told me later that
she saw the man smiling…smiling… after the deed was done, as he was
driving away.” She began sobbing into Blondie’s (Renee’s?)
shoulder. Blondie stared into the camera silently.
“Renee McCallister is a deaf mute who grew up under the care
of Miss Swanson. She shared this earlier…” the announcer trailed off as the
screen cut to Blondie signing and an interpreter speaking for her. “This man
probably doesn’t even know we do this. I’m sure he was simply caught up in the
moment, but his actions color the season for all of us. It is this sort of
uncalled-for violence that makes it more and more difficult to enjoy the hustle
and bustle of the shopping season- especially when that shopping will benefit
these children who are so much worse off than our own.” The interpreter spoke
as Renee signed furiously.
Jerry was humbled, but angry. If that Margie Swanson is such
a saint, why did she act like such a total bitch this morning? Fuck her. Fuck
her and Blondie. The news caster went on and on, saying how the children
from the Elaine Donovan Elementary School were responsible for selecting gifts
to be given to the children of Saint Cecelia’s. The entire fourth grade class
had participated. Jerry’s daughter went to Donovan. She was in the fourth
grade there. Holy shit. Suddenly Jerry felt very small and very far away. Had
he misheard his daughter? Did she talk about that fucking doll because it was a
part of her class project? He scrambled to remember. He checked his texts from
her, and his email. There was no mention of it.
Had he only been half-listening when she said it? Had he
only wanted to find something to one-up his ex? Jerry stood up from the stool
and pulled his hair in his hands. “FUCK!” he cried aloud. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” He
grabbed his phone and punched his ex’s number. It rang several times before she
picked up.
“Yes?” She answered curtly.
“Hey Sharon, it’s Jerry. Listen, did B want anything special
for Christmas this year? I mean, she was talking about some mermaid doll or
something… did she want that? Were you planning on getting it...?”
“I know It’s you, Jerry. And no, she didn’t want that
mermaid thing. She wants a bike. She told you this already. There was something
at school about the doll… some shit about an orphanage or something. Don’t you
listen to her, Jerr-y?” She dragged his name out venomously.
Jerry stared at the newscast. He was on TV, well, you
couldn’t see his face, but there he was. “…home video of the assault has just
surfaced. It’s raw, and we apologize for the quality. “ the faceless reporter
spoke. In the video, you could plainly see jerry jump over people and land on
The Thick Woman, send her sprawling, then grab the doll and run off. Jerry’s
face was never clear enough to make out. Jerry sat back down and spoke into the
phone “I gotta go” and hung up.
Jerry dropped the package into the large slot at the post
office. He had wrapped it in plain brown paper and addressed it to Renee
McCallister, care of Saint Cecelia’s. He felt horrible about it all. As he
drove home, he listened to the news. It started to feel like a badly-scripted
movie, and Jerry was starring as the Mermaid Mauler. “Nice name” he thought to
himself when he first heard it.
Later that night Jerry was feeling better about it all. The
buzz had died down to a dull roar on the news, and he never made YouTube at
all. “Dodged a bullet there” he said to the empty apartment. His phone
rang. It was Sharon. “Hello?”
“Jerry, listen. It seems I owe you an apology.”
Jerry was stunned. “Okay, for what?”
“B WAS talking about that damned doll. She hasn’t
stopped talking about it all day after you called – there was something about
it on the news and she won’t shut up. I bought her one today, but I was
wondering if you’d like to split it with me. We could give it to her together.”
“She wants the doll? Where did you get one?”
“You know that shithole across town… Malcom’s or something?
They had a pallet of them just sitting there. I grabbed a couple, sent one to
that woman who was attacked…did you hear? From Saint Cecelia’s”
Jerry laughed into his hands. A whole pallet of them. In his mind, he saw hundreds of the dolls dancing around in a ling conga line through the store, leading him into the open mouth of a volcano where The Thick Woman stood with a baseball bat and struck him in the kidneys until he was pissing blood into the lava flow. “Sure, Sharon. I’ll split it
with you.”
“What’s so funny?” Sharon asked.
“I’ve had a long day is all. A very long day.”
Thursday, November 27, 2014
The Shrinking Table
Time slips past us at a fearsome rate. When you are but a child, a week feels like an entire school year, a month is an eternity, and a year might as well be never. We age and slowly recognize that a week is but a speck on the calendar. A month comes and goes before we are prepared for the list of birthdays and holidays that fill it. A year? Well that is something we wish we could slow from coming as we realize how many things we have left undone, unsaid, or untouched.
Time slips by.
So where are we now, a single year after our last Thanksgiving? Have we made any changes? Have we advanced our goals? Have we completed tasks we set for ourselves in the past twelve months? I know that I haven't accomplished nearly enough in my life. I haven't given enough blankets or coffees or meals to homeless people I see on the street. I haven't learned to stay my tongue when patience is called for and my hurt rises from my mouth as anger. I haven't been understanding enough to realize that age sometimes brings with it a rigidity and unwillingness to accept sweeping changes to once-comfortable lives. And I haven't looked into my own soul enough to bandage the old wounds and apply salve to where the missing scales make me vulnerable.
Much has happened in the past year. My family is shrinking, and the core elements (my sister, my mother, and I) are not getting any younger. Warranties on the bodies that carry us through this iteration are expired, and the realization that we cannot rebuild those ailing components is painfully obvious. I accept that we should take better care of ourselves and each other. I am thankful for the chance to improve my health, and for those I love to remain as healthy as is possible. I am also thankful that my mother and my sister are who they are, even when I can't help poke at them. I hope they never forget that it is love that guides my heart, never malice.
I see the world through a lens that others don't always share. I am thankful for the chances I am given to express my own opinions and hopefully point my not-always-delicate finger in the eye of those things I find distasteful. I'm sometimes not so careful with my words, and that can be problematic.
I realize that I live a life that many don't consider normal, but I live it happily and willingly. The women I love are part of me, and I am thankful for the chance to love them and to be there when I am needed. I am thankful for them in my heart, accepting me as I am, and being understanding when I fall down. I am far from perfect, but I try.
I watch others I love struggle with health issues, with familial issues, and with financial issues. I am thankful that I am able to be an ear for them when they want or need one. I am ever grateful for their friendship, and for the intimacy we share.
And then there is my son. I watched him grow from a child into a man, and still is see him as that little boy, wanting to please everyone and hurt none. I see him struggle with the fire of an angry young man, but with little of the wisdom of age. His world is not mine, and I often find myself unable to understand how to help him without doing for him. There's a difference. I am thankful for his beautiful, if often confused, heart. And I love him dearly.
I am thankful for my sweet and mischievous daughter. I see her becoming a lovely and (hopefully) reasonably well-adjusted young lady. She has a thick, leathery exterior, but the heart of a human being more than twice her age. I hope she understands that I am not just an embarrassing man in her life, but rather that I treat her with respect and trust that she earns.
I am thankful for my extended family through my partners. So many people to love, and be loved by. Sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers. Jewels among humanity.
I'll take one tiny spot here and mention those who will wish to remain nameless, but who are so very much a part of my heart. People who I hope will recognize that although we do not see each other often (years, even), they are still connected though the words we share, or the breakfasts, or music, or a hundred different ways. You are a part of me, and through peace, love, and happiness, I hope I am a part of you.
So, dear reader, gather your love in your arms and hands and hearts and hold it close. Remember those who have passed, or moved away, or moved on in any way. Sing their songs and share their stories. Be thankful for having them in your life, or having passed through it.
Just be thankful, even if just for being able to watch the passing of the time.
Time slips by.
So where are we now, a single year after our last Thanksgiving? Have we made any changes? Have we advanced our goals? Have we completed tasks we set for ourselves in the past twelve months? I know that I haven't accomplished nearly enough in my life. I haven't given enough blankets or coffees or meals to homeless people I see on the street. I haven't learned to stay my tongue when patience is called for and my hurt rises from my mouth as anger. I haven't been understanding enough to realize that age sometimes brings with it a rigidity and unwillingness to accept sweeping changes to once-comfortable lives. And I haven't looked into my own soul enough to bandage the old wounds and apply salve to where the missing scales make me vulnerable.
Much has happened in the past year. My family is shrinking, and the core elements (my sister, my mother, and I) are not getting any younger. Warranties on the bodies that carry us through this iteration are expired, and the realization that we cannot rebuild those ailing components is painfully obvious. I accept that we should take better care of ourselves and each other. I am thankful for the chance to improve my health, and for those I love to remain as healthy as is possible. I am also thankful that my mother and my sister are who they are, even when I can't help poke at them. I hope they never forget that it is love that guides my heart, never malice.
I see the world through a lens that others don't always share. I am thankful for the chances I am given to express my own opinions and hopefully point my not-always-delicate finger in the eye of those things I find distasteful. I'm sometimes not so careful with my words, and that can be problematic.
I realize that I live a life that many don't consider normal, but I live it happily and willingly. The women I love are part of me, and I am thankful for the chance to love them and to be there when I am needed. I am thankful for them in my heart, accepting me as I am, and being understanding when I fall down. I am far from perfect, but I try.
I watch others I love struggle with health issues, with familial issues, and with financial issues. I am thankful that I am able to be an ear for them when they want or need one. I am ever grateful for their friendship, and for the intimacy we share.
And then there is my son. I watched him grow from a child into a man, and still is see him as that little boy, wanting to please everyone and hurt none. I see him struggle with the fire of an angry young man, but with little of the wisdom of age. His world is not mine, and I often find myself unable to understand how to help him without doing for him. There's a difference. I am thankful for his beautiful, if often confused, heart. And I love him dearly.
I am thankful for my sweet and mischievous daughter. I see her becoming a lovely and (hopefully) reasonably well-adjusted young lady. She has a thick, leathery exterior, but the heart of a human being more than twice her age. I hope she understands that I am not just an embarrassing man in her life, but rather that I treat her with respect and trust that she earns.
I am thankful for my extended family through my partners. So many people to love, and be loved by. Sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers. Jewels among humanity.
I'll take one tiny spot here and mention those who will wish to remain nameless, but who are so very much a part of my heart. People who I hope will recognize that although we do not see each other often (years, even), they are still connected though the words we share, or the breakfasts, or music, or a hundred different ways. You are a part of me, and through peace, love, and happiness, I hope I am a part of you.
So, dear reader, gather your love in your arms and hands and hearts and hold it close. Remember those who have passed, or moved away, or moved on in any way. Sing their songs and share their stories. Be thankful for having them in your life, or having passed through it.
Just be thankful, even if just for being able to watch the passing of the time.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Digging Up the Past
There was a knock at the door.
And another.
And then, impossibly, yet another.
Raymond Batista squashed out the short cigarette he’d been
nursing for too long. He kicked the chair out using the backs of his knees and
stood up, groaning. Raymond hated this
fucking holiday. Little bastards from all over come banging on your door
begging for candy, and if you don’t have any, they might egg your car or cover
your trees with toilet paper. He made
his way to the door, thinking that it must be high school or college kids at
this time of night. The younger ones would all be at home now, digging into the
private stash of goodies that they kept hidden from mom. Their braces and teeth slathered on caramel
and nougat, sugar on their breath as they fell asleep and mommy and daddy
secreted away their favorites.
There was another knock, a very quiet one, low on the door.
“I’m coming” Raymond barked, grabbing the nearly empty bowl
of apples from the side table. HE always gave apples. And he always bought the
culls from a local orchard for just this occasion. Not rotten, but bruised (and
cheap) enough. When he was a younger man, Raymond used to fantasize about
slipping a razor blade in just one of them, or a piece of glass - something
extra to keep the night exciting. These days, in his early fifties, Raymond
just wanted to be left alone. He’d had a hard life, and now just wanted to be
away from all the bullshit that followed him around ever since…well it was a
long time ago.
<knock>
“For fuck’s sake.” Raymond swung the door inward on its
creaking hinges to see… nothing. Nothing but leaves blowing around the porch,
lit only by the single bulb above the stairs just beyond the front door. “Hello? Where the hell did you go?” He called
into the night. There was a pop and the bare bulb went dark as it swung in the
gusting wind. Leaves swirled into piles and then blew out into a flat spray
against the front of the house. “Little shits” Raymond thought to himself as he
stepped out to appraise the street. It
was mostly abandoned houses, a closed convenience store on the corner under the
only working streetlight exclaimed ‘GOING OUT OF BUSINESS’ from the plywood
covering the windows. In either direction there was the sound of wind. From the
south-bound side of the street, he could hear the far-off laughter of a woman,
probably a prostitute, and the loud barking of someone’s dog. Bleak. Lifeless.
Depressed.
He walked back into the house, closing the door behind him
and placing the bowl of darkening apples on the stand. He sat back down at the
kitchen table, the vinyl tablecloth showing years of cigarette burns and coffee
stains. Fishing a Winston out of the open pack, he lifted the lighter to his
face in the closing gloom. The tobacco caught, he inhaled, and blew out a
stream of smoke followed by a cough. He
turned in the chair and leaned over to the radio at the other end of the table.
It was usually on, but tonight everyone played that ‘Monster Mash’ song, and he
really didn’t want to have anything related to ‘Frankenstein’ in his head. He
spent enough time thinking about it anyway, no need to be reminded.
He smoked on.
<knock>
“Fucking kids” He barked angrily, rose and moved more
quickly to the door. “I’m done with this shit.” He swung the front door again, forgetting that the bulb had
blown out. This time, though, he was startled. Silhouetted against the yellow
glow of the streetlight, and casting a shadow up the front of the house was a
kid. A young kid, maybe not 12. Raymond couldn’t make out his face or costume,
but it looked light and dark, maybe some kind of camouflage. The kid’s face was
dark, too. Either he was black or in some kind of face paint. “What are you,
some kind of soldier?” Raymond demanded. “Go home, kid. It’s late.”
There was a sound in the darkness to Raymond’s left. It
sounded like a little girl screaming, but it was far, far away. Miles away. Maybe
decades. He straightened and backed into the door frame, darting his eyes
towards the sound. Nothing. When he looked back to where the kid had been,
again there was nothing. Raymond was
afraid and sweating, the Winston clinging to the long ash in a comical way. The tee shirt
clung to him, making Raymond Batista look like something from one of Ralph
Bakshi’s animated films - a caricature of
an aging, overweight Spanish man caught in the act of something illegal. He shook off the moment, gathered himself and
moved toward the steps of the porch. There was nobody there.
Seated at the kitchen table with a fresh cigarette, Raymond
was feeling better. He’d decided to not answer the door again tonight. He was
done. Screw the kids, it was late enough and the light was blown out anyway. As he sat there, he began to think about his
family and his life. His brother had gone to college and become an accountant.
After that dreadful summer, Donald Batista had found the straight and narrow
road to success. He stopped being the local bully and made amends in every
corner he could. He became class president in high school, and had a hand in
getting money from state grants for summer programs for underprivileged kids.
He was a model citizen. Their mother had disowned Raymond. No son of hers was
going to be a murderer. His father never spoke to Raymond again, even after he’d
served his time. Raymond paid his debt to society in an adult prison, even
though he was not yet 16. He was tried for murder, pleaded to a lesser charge
and did ten years for it. When he got out of Prison, he discovered that being a
young Hispanic man with a record made it very difficult to find work. What a
surprise. Raymond did odd jobs for
years, wandering this way and that. He watched his younger brother succeed through
the long-distance lens of the small articles that were published in the local
paper. He tried to talk to his mother once, but she didn’t know him, or at
least that’s what she said.
So Raymond was alone in life. He never had kids, or even a
steady date. Prison had help make some changes to his sexual preferences that
weren’t well supported in this neighborhood, so to speak. He never had a
girlfriend, or even a steady interest. He’d found God for a short time, until
it became obvious to him that God wasn’t going to help improve his life any
more than the drugs would. So Raymond was clean, celibate, agnostic, and alone
while his brother never once mentioned him in public nor offered help.
<knock>
Raymond heard the sound from far away. He was drifting off
to sleep in the kitchen chair, his head bobbing slowly downward to be propped
up by his chin resting on his chest. He breathed
slowly and rhythmically as the knock came again. “come in” he uttered reflexively though his
near-sleep state. The front door swung
inwards and the silhouette of the boy was there again. It stepped forward,
stiffly and Raymond’s dreaming-self turned to see the shape coming towards him.
He tried to scream, but only a stream of letters floated out of his mouth. “A’s”
and “H’s” streamed out of his mouth in a glowing, comic-book style. Raymond
stood up, now 15 again, and blinked as he looked at his young hands. He looked
around wildly and caught his reflection in the glass of one of the kitchen
cabinets. His reflection spoke back to him “You’re dreaming, asshole” it
shouted through a speech balloon that appeared to the right of his head. He
turned back to the kid coming closer. He realized what was happening.
He was holding a gun in his hand now, the barrel smoking.
That kid teasing his brother wasn’t going to tease him anymore. Not ever. A
girl in the crowd screamed, and his brother Donny first smiled at Raymond, but
then looked at the bleeding kid on the ground and fell beside him, shaking him,
trying to… what? Make him not dead? Raymond was dragged to the ground and
eventually stopped struggling once the gun was kicked from his bloody hand. He just stared at the dead kid In his brother’s
arms.
The dead kid’s eyes moved to meet his own, and Raymond
started screaming. It was pretty much a month of nightmares for him after
that. Eventually, Life took over and
Raymond had real monsters to worry about, not nightmares. Not a dead kid staring at him.
The kid shuffled forward, his blood-stained tee shirt
clinging to his young body. But it was his eyes, his begging, saddened eyes
that scared Raymond the most. “Ray-Ray”
it muttered, breathlessly. Raymond stiffened, looking back at his reflection. It
was now his brother staring back at him, the cabinets were gone and they were
in the street. It was summer. It was
sweltering. Donnie mouthed some words,
and they appeared from his mouth in a run of letter that Raymond had to read. “WHY
RAY? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?”
Raymond tried to scream back, but only letter came out “FOR
YOU, DONNIE… FOR MY BROTHER!”
The dead kid closed his hand around Raymond’s arm,
Instinctively, Raymond raised the gun and popped two shots into the dead kid.
It laughed at him. Raymond tried to turn away, to run. The dreamland made his
motions impossibly slow, and the dead kid fell on him like a tree in the
forest. An eleven-year-old tree made of bone and sinew. And blood. And staring
eyes.
They fell backwards, down a long cliff. The sky tumbled past
and Raymond felt his grasp on his brother’s hand slipping. Donnie stared down
the cliff at them as they fell, Raymond and the dead kid. Donnie’s face grew smaller as Raymond realized
what was going to happen.
Raymond woke suddenly from his dream. His chest was tight, his
breathing hard, and he was soaked in sweat. He clenched his chest and turned in
the chair to the open front door. He fell to his knees, pulling the vinyl
tablecloth off the table as he went , spilling everything onto the kitchen
floor around him. The radio turned on,
sparking to life in a chorus of “They did the Mash… They did the Monster Mash…”
Raymond struggled to breathe against his looming death. He
turned his face up and said through tears, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Frankie. I’m
so sorry.”
The dead kid in the blood-stained shirt looked down at
Raymond with sad eyes. He leaned down to
touch Raymond’s face to turn it to meet his own. Franklin James Stein spoke softly to his
murderer through dead lips “Don’t worry. Your brother will be joining you soon.”
“No. Not him too…” Tears fell down Raymond’s face and he died
face down in the kitchen of his empty house. Alone.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Little Black Ribbons
Do you know what the date is today? It’s September the eleventh. Google has a small black ribbon on the search
page, there are some events planned in NY, PA, and DC (I understand the
President is attending the Pentagon event), but I didn’t see much going on
locally, nor did I see a dramatic increase in American Flag sales. Quite
honestly, I didn’t see an awful lot of anything marking this day, even though I
do sometimes think that it’s only a matter of time before there’s a “September
11th Sale” somewhere – it’ll only take one ballsy retailer to start
THAT one going. Maybe even a “Let’s Roll Event” at the local Toyota dealership.
What? They’re built in the US.
I mark this day on my blog for a number of reasons, one of
which is the fact that after all the patriotic nonsense that occurred thirteen
years ago, we are no more unified as a nation. Regardless of the safety
programs and policies perpetrated upon the American public, we are no safer.
And without better oversight, our own
government is more likely to spy on us than any foreign interest. I remember seeing the streets, and cars, and
shirts, and jackets, and stickers, and mugs, and cups, and everygoddamned thing
else covered in American flags. I remember the magnetic ribbons (“I support the
Chinese factory making these magnets”) and the patriotic advertisements
littering our visual and audio airwaves. I remember the spike in NYC merchandising
that included so many items plastered in WTC images.
I remember the hole in the skyline.
And I remember that particular video of the collapse that
was shown so often that we became desensitized to it. We were shown those frames so many times from
so many sources that as a society we very slowly came to be comfortable with
them. Not friendly, but we certainly
weren’t shocked any longer. And we moved on.
Our world has been changed, and honestly, I don’t think we
will ever again live in a world where ANYONE would argue that we have a right
to privacy. We’ve surrendered it. And
that thought makes me so angry, and so sorry for our future. I mean, think
about that – We’ve surrendered our privacy. To put this in perspective, Rowe V. Wade was
decided 7-2 that a citizen had a right to privacy guaranteed under the due
process clause Article 2 of the 14th Amendment. Here, read that for yourself:
“AMENDMENT
XIV
Passed by
Congress June 13, 1866. Ratified July 9, 1868.Note: Article I, section 2, of the Constitution was modified by section 2 of the 14th amendment.
Section
1.
All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”
All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”
I’m no
lawyer, but I don’t equate due process with privacy, but what do I know. My point is that in a world where privacy is
not held sacred (as was the case in 1973 when the landmark case was decided
upon), I doubt women would have the right to decide that particular issue for
themselves. I wonder what other decisions we would be prevented from making for
ourselves? Would technology have advanced at the same pace in the ways it has
if we didn’t have some expectation of privacy?
Seriously – ask your kids, or someone else’s kids how they feel about
being surveilled or having their lives open for scrutiny by the government. Most of the ones I ask simply shrug and say
something along the lines of “If you aren’t doing anything wrong, who cares?”
Well for one, I care.
And I matter,
don’t I? Yes. I do.
As do the
people listed below. My heart for them and their families.
List of World
Trade Center Victims (not including plane crews or passengers) * Gordon M. Aamoth, Jr. * Edelmiro Abad * Maria
Rose Abad * Andrew Anthony Abate * Vincent Abate * Laurence Christopher Abel * William
F. Abrahamson * Richard Anthony Aceto * Jesus Acevedo Rescand * Heinrich
Bernhard Ackermann * Paul Acquaviva * Donald LaRoy Adams * Patrick Adams * Shannon
Lewis Adams * Stephen George Adams * Ignatius Udo Adanga * Christy A. Addamo * Terence
E. Adderley, Jr. * Sophia Buruwad Addo * Lee Allan Adler * Daniel Thomas
Afflitto * Emmanuel Akwasi Afuakwah * Alok Agarwal * Mukul Kumar Agarwala * Joseph
Agnello * David Scott Agnes * Brian G. Ahearn * Jeremiah Joseph Ahern * Joanne
Marie Ahladiotis * Shabbir Ahmed * Terrance Andre Aiken * Godwin Ajala * Gertrude
M. Alagero * Andrew Alameno * Margaret
Ann Alario * Gary M. Albero * Jon Leslie Albert * Peter Alderman * Jacquelyn
Delaine Aldridge * David D. Alger * Sarah Ali-Escarcega * Ernest Alikakos * Edward
L. Allegretto * Eric Allen * Joseph Ryan Allen * Richard Dennis Allen * Richard
Lanard Allen * Christopher E. Allingham * Janet M. Alonso * Arturo Alva-Moreno
* Anthony Alvarado * Antonio Javier Alvarez * Victoria Alvarez-Brito * Telmo E.
Alvear * Cesar Amoranto Alviar * Tariq Amanullah * Angelo Amaranto * James M.
Amato Joseph Amatuccio * Christopher Charles Amoroso * Kazuhiro Anai * Calixto
Anaya, Jr. * Joseph Anchundia * Kermit Charles Anderson * Yvette Constance
Anderson * John Andreacchio * Michael Rourke Andrews * Jean Ann Andrucki * Siew-Nya
Ang * Joseph Angelini, Jr. * Joseph Angelini, Sr. * Laura Angilletta * Doreen
J. Angrisani * Lorraine Antigua * Peter Paul Apollo * Faustino Apostol, Jr. * Frank
Thomas Aquilino * Patrick Michael Aranyos * David Arce * Michael George
Arczynski * Louis Arena * Adam P. Arias
* Michael Armstrong * Jack Charles Aron * Joshua Aron * Richard Avery Aronow * Japhet
Jesse Aryee * Patrick Asante * Carl Asaro * Michael Asciak * Michael Edward
Asher * Janice Marie Ashley * Thomas J. Ashton * Manuel O. Asitimbay * Gregg
Arthur Atlas * Gerald T. Atwood * James Audiffred * Louis Frank Aversano, Jr. *
Ezra Aviles * Sandy Ayala * Arlene T. Babakitis * Eustace P. Bacchus * John J.
Badagliacca * Jane Ellen Baeszler * Robert J. Baierwalter * Andrew J. Bailey * Brett
T. Bailey * Tatyana Bakalinskaya * Michael S. Baksh * Sharon M. Balkcom * Michael
Andrew Bane * Katherine Bantis * Gerard Baptiste * Walter Baran * Gerard A.
Barbara * Paul Vincent Barbaro * James William Barbella * Ivan Kyrillos F.
Barbosa * Victor Daniel Barbosa * Colleen Ann Barkow * David Michael Barkway * Matthew
Barnes * Sheila Patricia Barnes * Evan J. Baron * Renee Barrett-Arjune * Nathaly
Barrios La Cruz * Arthur Thaddeus Barry * Diane G. Barry * Maurice Vincent
Barry * Scott D. Bart * Carlton W. Bartels * Guy Barzvi * Inna B. Basina * Alysia
Basmajian * Kenneth William Basnicki * Steven
Bates * Paul James Battaglia * Walter David Bauer, Jr. * Marlyn Capito Bautista
* Jasper Baxter * Michele Beale * Paul Frederick Beatini * Jane S. Beatty * Lawrence
Ira Beck * Manette Marie Beckles * Carl John Bedigian * Michael Earnest Beekman
* Maria A. Behr * Yelena Belilovsky * Nina
Patrice Bell * Debbie Bellows * Stephen Elliot Belson * Paul M. Benedetti * Denise
Lenore Benedetto * Maria Bengochea * Bryan
Craig Bennett * Eric L. Bennett * Oliver Duncan Bennett * Margaret L. Benson * Dominick
J. Berardi * James Patrick Berger * Steven Howard Berger * John P. Bergin * Alvin
Bergsohn * Daniel Bergstein * Michael J. Berkeley * Donna M. Bernaerts * David
W. Bernard * William Bernstein * David M. Berray * David S. Berry * Joseph J.
Berry * William Reed Bethke * Timothy Betterly * Edward Frank Beyea * Paul
Beyer * Anil Tahilram Bharvaney * Bella J. Bhukhan * Shimmy D. Biegeleisen * Peter
Alexander Bielfeld * William G. Biggart * Brian Bilcher * Carl Vincent Bini * Gary
Eugene Bird * Joshua David Birnbaum * George John Bishop * Jeffrey Donald
Bittner * Albert Balewa Blackman, Jr. * Christopher Joseph Blackwell * Susan
Leigh Blair * Harry Blanding, Jr. * Janice Lee Blaney * Craig Michael Blass * Rita
Blau * Richard Middleton Blood, Jr. * Michael Andrew Boccardi * John P. Bocchi * Michael Leopoldo Bocchino *
Susan M. Bochino * Bruce D. Boehm * Mary Catherine Boffa * Nicholas Andrew
Bogdan * Darren Christopher Bohan * Lawrence Francis Boisseau * Vincent M.
Boland, Jr. * Alan Bondarenko * Andre
Bonheur, Jr. * Colin Arthur Bonnett * Frank Bonomo * Yvonne Lucia Bonomo * Genieve
Bonsignore, 3 * Seaon Booker * Sherry
Ann Bordeaux * Krystine Bordenabe * Martin Boryczewski * Richard Edward Bosco *
John H. Boulton * Francisco Eligio Bourdier * Thomas Harold Bowden, Jr. * Kimberly
S. Bowers * Veronique Nicole Bowers * Larry Bowman * Shawn Edward Bowman, Jr. *
Kevin L. Bowser * Gary R. Box * Gennady Boyarsky * Pamela Boyce * Michael Boyle
* Alfred Braca * Kevin Bracken * David Brian Brady * Alexander Braginsky * Nicholas
W. Brandemarti * Michelle Renee Bratton * Patrice Braut * Lydia E. Bravo * Ronald
Michael Breitweiser * Edward A. Brennan III * Francis Henry Brennan * Michael
E. Brennan * Peter Brennan * Thomas M. Brennan * Daniel J. Brethel * Gary Lee
Bright * Jonathan Briley * Mark A. Brisman * Paul Gary Bristow * Mark Francis
Broderick * Herman Charles Broghammer * Keith A. Broomfield * Ethel Brown
Janice * Juloise Brown * Lloyd Stanford
Brown * Patrick J. Brown * Bettina Browne * Mark Bruce * Richard George
Bruehert * Andrew Brunn * Vincent Brunton * Ronald Paul Bucca * Brandon J.
Buchanan * Gregory Joseph Buck * Dennis Buckley * Nancy Clare Bueche * Patrick
Joseph Buhse * John Edwards Bulaga, Jr. * Stephen Bunin * Matthew J. Burke * Thomas Daniel Burke * William Francis Burke,
Jr. * Donald J. Burns * Kathleen Anne Burns * Keith James Burns * John Patrick
Burnside * Irina Buslo * Milton G. Bustillo * Thomas M. Butler * Patrick Byrne
* Timothy G. Byrne * Jesus Neptali
Cabezas * Lillian Caceres * Brian Joseph Cachia * Steven Dennis Cafiero, Jr. * Richard
M. Caggiano * Cecile Marella Caguicla * Michael John Cahill * Scott Walter
Cahill * Thomas Joseph Cahill * George Cain * Salvatore B. Calabro * Joseph
Calandrillo * Philip V. Calcagno * Edward Calderon * Kenneth Marcus Caldwell * Dominick
Enrico Calia * Felix Calixte * Frank Callahan * Liam Callahan * Luigi Calvi * Roko
Camaj * Michael F. Cammarata * David Otey Campbell * Geoffrey Thomas Campbell *
Jill Marie Campbell * Robert Arthur Campbell * Sandra Patricia Campbell * Sean Thomas Canavan * John A. Candela * Vincent
Cangelosi * Stephen J. Cangialosi * Lisa Bella Cannava * Brian Cannizzaro * Michael Canty * Louis Anthony Caporicci * Jonathan
Neff Cappello * James Christopher Cappers * Richard Michael Caproni * Jose
Manuel Cardona * Dennis M. Carey * Steve Carey * Edward Carlino * Michael Scott
Carlo * David G. Carlone * Rosemarie C.
Carlson * Mark Stephen Carney * Joyce Ann Carpeneto * Ivhan Luis Carpio
Bautista * Jeremy M. Carrington * Michael
Carroll * Peter Carroll * James Joseph Carson, Jr. * Marcia Cecil Carter * James
Marcel Cartier * Vivian Casalduc * John Francis Casazza * Paul R. Cascio * Margarito
Casillas * Thomas Anthony Casoria * William Otto Caspar * Alejandro Castano * Arcelia
Castillo * Germaan Castillo Garcia * Leonard M. Castrianno * Jose Ramon Castro
* Richard G. Catarelli * Christopher Sean Caton * Robert John Caufield * Mary
Teresa Caulfield * Judson Cavalier * Michael Joseph Cawley * Jason David Cayne
* Juan Armando Ceballos * Jason Michael Cefalu * Thomas Joseph Celic * Ana
Mercedes Centeno * Joni Cesta * Jeffrey Marc Chairnoff * Swarna Chalasani * William Chalcoff * Eli Chalouh * Charles
Lawrence Chan * Mandy Chang * Mark Lawrence Charette * Gregorio Manuel Chavez *
Delrose E. Cheatham * Pedro Francisco Checo * Douglas MacMillan Cherry * Stephen
Patrick Cherry * Vernon Paul Cherry * Nester Julio Chevalier * Swede Chevalier * Alexander H. Chiang * Dorothy J. Chiarchiaro
* Luis Alfonso Chimbo * Robert Chin * Wing Wai Ching * Nicholas Paul Chiofalo *
John Chipura * Peter A. Chirchirillo * Catherine Chirls * Kyung Hee Cho * Abul
K. Chowdhury * Mohammad Salahuddin Chowdhury * Kirsten L. Christophe * Pamela
Chu * Steven Chucknick * Wai Chung * Christopher Ciafardini * Alex F. Ciccone *
Frances Ann Cilente * Elaine Cillo * Edna Cintron * Nestor Andre Cintron III * Robert
Dominick Cirri * Juan Pablo Cisneros-Alvarez * Benjamin Keefe Clark * Eugene
Clark * Gregory Alan Clark * Mannie Leroy Clark * Thomas R. Clark * Christopher
Robert Clarke * Donna Marie Clarke * Michael J. Clarke * Suria Rachel Emma Clarke * Kevin Francis
Cleary * James D. Cleere * Geoffrey W.
Cloud * Susan Marie Clyne * Steven Coakley * Jeffrey Alan Coale * Patricia A.
Cody * Daniel Michael Coffey * Jason M. Coffey * Florence G. Cohen * Kevin
Sanford Cohen * Anthony Joseph Coladonato * Mark Joseph Colaio * Stephen Colaio
* Christopher M. Colasanti * Kevin Nathaniel Colbert * Michel P. Colbert * Keith E. Coleman * Scott Thomas Coleman * Tarel
Coleman * Liam Joseph Colhoun * Robert D. Colin * Robert J. Coll * Jean Collin
* John Michael Collins * Michael L. Collins * Thomas J. Collins * Joseph
Collison * Patricia Malia Colodner * Linda M. Colon * Sol E. Colon * Ronald
Edward Comer * Sandra Jolane Conaty Brace * Jaime Concepcion * Albert Conde * Denease
Conley * Susan P. Conlon * Margaret Mary Conner * Cynthia Marie Lise Connolly *
John E. Connolly, Jr. * James Lee Connor * Jonathan M. Connors * Kevin Patrick
Connors * Kevin F. Conroy * Jose Manuel Contreras-Fernandez * Brenda E. Conway * Dennis Michael Cook * Helen
D. Cook * John A. Cooper * Joseph John Coppo, Jr. * Gerard J. Coppola * Joseph
Albert Corbett * Alejandro Cordero * Robert Cordice * Ruben D. Correa * Danny A. Correa-Gutierrez * James J.
Corrigan * Carlos Cortes * Kevin Cosgrove * Dolores Marie Costa * Digna
Alexandra Costanza * Charles Gregory Costello, Jr. * Michael S. Costello * Conrod
K. Cottoy * Martin John Coughlan * John
Gerard Coughlin * Timothy J. Coughlin * James E. Cove * Andre Cox * Frederick
John Cox * James Raymond Coyle * Michele Coyle-Eulau * Anne Marie Cramer * Christopher
S. Cramer * Denise Elizabeth Crant * James Leslie Crawford, Jr. * Robert James
Crawford * Joanne Mary Cregan * Lucy Crifasi * John A. Crisci * Daniel Hal
Crisman * Dennis Cross * Kevin Raymond Crotty * Thomas G. Crotty * John Crowe *
Welles Remy Crowther * Robert L. Cruikshank * John Robert Cruz * Grace Yu Cua * Kenneth John Cubas * Francisco
Cruz Cubero * Richard J. Cudina * Neil James Cudmore * Thomas Patrick Cullen
lll * Joyce Cummings * Brian Thomas
Cummins * Michael Cunningham * Robert Curatolo * Laurence Damian Curia * Paul
Dario Curioli * Beverly Curry * Michael S. Curtin * Gavin Cushny * John D'Allara * Vincent
Gerard D'Amadeo * Jack D'Ambrosi * Mary D'Antonio * Edward A. D'Atri * Michael
D. D'Auria * Michael Jude D'Esposito * Manuel John Da Mota * Caleb Arron Dack *
Carlos S. DaCosta * Joao Alberto DaFonseca Aguiar, Jr. * Thomas A. Damaskinos *
Jeannine Marie Damiani-Jones * Patrick W. Danahy * Nana Danso * Vincent Danz * Dwight
Donald Darcy * Elizabeth Ann Darling * Annette Andrea Dataram * Lawrence
Davidson * Michael Allen Davidson * Scott Matthew Davidson * Titus Davidson * Niurka
Davila * Clinton Davis * Wayne Terrial Davis * Anthony Richard Dawson * Calvin
Dawson * Edward James Day * Jayceryll de Chavez * Jennifer De Jesus * Monique
E. De Jesus * Nereida De Jesus * Emerita De La Pena * Azucena Maria de la Torre
* David Paul De Rubbio * Jemal Legesse De Santis * Christian Louis De Simone * Melanie Louise
De Vere * William Thomas Dean * Robert J. DeAngelis, Jr. * Thomas Patrick DeAngelis
* Tara E. Debek * Anna Marjia DeBin * James V. Deblase * Paul DeCola * Simon
Marash Dedvukaj * Jason Defazio * David A. DeFeo * Manuel Del Valle, Jr. * Donald
Arthur Delapenha * Vito Joseph DeLeo * Danielle Anne Delie * Joseph A. Della
Pietra * Andrea DellaBella * Palmina DelliGatti * Colleen Ann Deloughery * Francis
Albert DeMartini * Anthony Demas * Martin N. DeMeo * Francis Deming * Carol K. Demitz * Kevin
Dennis * Thomas F. Dennis * Jean DePalma * Jose Depena * Robert John Deraney * Michael
DeRienzo * Edward DeSimone III * Andrew Desperito * Cindy Ann Deuel * Jerry
DeVito * Robert P. Devitt, Jr. * Dennis Lawrence Devlin * Gerard Dewan * Sulemanali
Kassamali Dhanani * Patricia Florence Di Chiaro * Debra Ann Di Martino * Michael
Louis Diagostino * Matthew Diaz * Nancy Diaz * Rafael Arturo Diaz * Michael A.
Diaz-Piedra III * Judith Berquis Diaz-Sierra * Joseph Dermot Dickey, Jr. * Lawrence
Patrick Dickinson * Michael D. Diehl * John Difato * Vincent Difazio * Carl
Anthony DiFranco * Donald Difranco * Stephen Patrick Dimino * William John
Dimmling * Marisa DiNardo Schorpp * Christopher M. Dincuff * Jeffrey Mark
Dingle * Anthony Dionisio * George
DiPasquale * Joseph Dipilato * Douglas Frank DiStefano * Ramzi A. Doany * John
Joseph Doherty * Melissa C. Doi * Brendan Dolan * Neil Matthew Dollard * James
Joseph Domanico * Benilda Pascua Domingo
* Carlos Dominguez * Jerome Mark Patrick
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Dowd * Kevin Dowdell * Mary Yolanda Dowling * Raymond Mathew Downey * Frank
Joseph Doyle * Joseph Michael Doyle * Stephen Patrick Driscoll * Mirna A.
Duarte * Michelle Beale Duberry * Luke
A. Dudek * Christopher Michael Duffy * Gerard
Duffy * Michael Joseph Duffy * Thomas W. Duffy * Antoinette Duger * Sareve Dukat * Christopher Joseph Dunne * Richard
Anthony Dunstan * Patrick Thomas Dwyer * Joseph Anthony Eacobacci * John Bruce
Eagleson * Robert Douglas Eaton * Dean Phillip Eberling * Margaret Ruth
Echtermann * Paul Robert Eckna * Constantine Economos * Dennis Michael Edwards
* Michael Hardy Edwards * Christine Egan * Lisa Egan * Martin J. Egan, Jr. * Michael
Egan * Samantha Martin Egan * Carole Eggert * Lisa Caren Ehrlich * John Ernst
Eichler * Eric Adam Eisenberg * Daphne Ferlinda Elder * Michael J. Elferis * Mark Joseph Ellis * Valerie Silver Ellis * Albert
Alfy William Elmarry * Edgar Hendricks Emery, Jr. * Doris Suk-Yuen Eng * Christopher
Epps * Ulf Ramm Ericson * Erwin L. Erker * William John Erwin * Jose Espinal * Fanny
Espinoza * Bridget Ann Esposito * Francis Esposito * Michael Esposito * William Esposito * Ruben Esquilin, Jr. * Sadie Ette * Barbara
G. Etzold * Eric Brian Evans * Robert Evans * Meredith Emily June Ewart * Catherine
K. Fagan * Patricia Mary Fagan * Keith George Fairben * Sandra Fajardo-Smith * William
F. Fallon * William Lawrence Fallon, Jr. * Anthony J. Fallone, Jr. * Dolores
Brigitte Fanelli * John Joseph Fanning * Kathleen Anne Faragher * Thomas Farino
* Nancy Carole Farley * Elizabeth Ann Farmer * Douglas Jon Farnum * John G.
Farrell * John W. Farrell * Terrence Patrick Farrell * Joseph D. Farrelly * Thomas
Patrick Farrelly * Syed Abdul Fatha * Christopher Edward Faughnan * Wendy R.
Faulkner * Shannon Marie Fava * Bernard D. Favuzza * Robert Fazio, Jr. * Ronald
Carl Fazio * William Feehan * Francis Jude Feely * Garth Erin Feeney * Sean B.
Fegan * Lee S. Fehling * Peter Adam Feidelberg * Alan D. Feinberg * Rosa Maria Feliciano * Edward Thomas Fergus,
Jr. * George Ferguson * Henry Fernandez * Judy Hazel Fernandez * Julio Fernandez * Elisa
Giselle Ferraina * Anne Marie Sallerin Ferreira * Robert John Ferris * David
Francis Ferrugio * Louis V. Fersini * Michael David Ferugio * Bradley James
Fetchet * Jennifer Louise Fialko * Kristen Nicole Fiedel * Samuel Fields * Michael
Bradley Finnegan * Timothy J. Finnerty *
Michael Curtis Fiore * Stephen S R Fiorelli, Sr. * Paul M. Fiori * John B.
Fiorito * John R. Fischer * Andrew Fisher * Bennett Lawson Fisher * John Roger
Fisher * Thomas J. Fisher * Lucy A.
Fishman * Ryan D. Fitzgerald * Thomas James Fitzpatrick * Richard P. Fitzsimons
* Salvatore Fiumefreddo * Christina Donovan Flannery * Eileen Flecha * Andre G.
Fletcher * Carl M. Flickinger * John
Joseph Florio * Joseph Walken Flounders * David Fodor * Michael N. Fodor * Stephen Mark Fogel * Thomas Foley * David J.
Fontana * Chih Min Foo * Godwin Forde * Donald
A. Foreman * Christopher Hugh Forsythe * Claudia Alicia Foster * Noel John
Foster * Ana Fosteris * Robert Joseph
Foti * Jeffrey Fox * Virginia Fox * Pauline Francis * Virgin Francis * Gary Jay
Frank * Morton H. Frank * Peter Christopher Frank * Richard K. Fraser * Kevin
J. Frawley * Clyde Frazier, Jr. * Lillian
Inez Frederick * Andrew Fredricks * Tamitha Freeman * Brett Owen Freiman * Peter
L. Freund * Arlene Eva Fried * Alan
Wayne Friedlander * Andrew Keith Friedman * Gregg J. Froehner * Peter Christian
Fry * Clement A. Fumando * Steven Elliot Furman * Paul Furmato * Fredric Neal
Gabler * Richard Samuel Federick Gabrielle * James Andrew Gadiel * Pamela Lee
Gaff * Ervin Vincent Gailliard * Deanna
Lynn Galante * Grace Catherine Galante * Anthony Edward Gallagher * Daniel
James Gallagher * John Patrick Gallagher * Lourdes Galletti * Cono E. Gallo * Vincenzo
Gallucci * Thomas E. Galvin * Giovanna Galletta Gambale * Thomas Gambino, Jr. *
Giann Franco Gamboa * Peter Ganci * Ladkat K. Ganesh * Claude Michael Gann * Osseni
Garba * Charles William Garbarini * Ceasar
Garcia * David Garcia * Juan Garcia * Marlyn Del Carmen Garcia * Christopher S.
Gardner * Douglas Benjamin Gardner * Harvey J. Gardner III * Jeffrey Brian
Gardner * Thomas Gardner * William
Arthur Gardner * Francesco Garfi * Rocco Nino Gargano * James M. Gartenberg * Matthew
David Garvey * Bruce Gary * Boyd Alan Gatton * Donald Richard Gavagan, Jr. * Terence
D. Gazzani * Gary Geidel * Paul Hamilton Geier * Julie M. Geis * Peter G.
Gelinas * Steven Paul Geller * Howard G. Gelling * Peter Victor Genco, Jr. * Steven
Gregory Genovese * Alayne Gentul * Edward F. Geraghty * Suzanne Geraty * Ralph
Gerhardt * Robert Gerlich * Denis P. Germain * Marina Romanovna Gertsberg * Susan
M. Getzendanner * James G. Geyer * Joseph M. Giaccone * Vincent Francis
Giammona * Debra Lynn Gibbon * James Andrew Giberson * Craig Neil Gibson * Ronnie
E. Gies * Laura A. Giglio * Andrew Clive Gilbert * Timothy Paul Gilbert * Paul
Stuart Gilbey * Paul John Gill * Mark Y. Gilles * Evan Gillette * Ronald
Lawrence Gilligan * Rodney C. Gillis * Laura Gilly * John F. Ginley * Donna
Marie Giordano * Jeffrey John Giordano * John Giordano * Steven A. Giorgetti * Martin
Giovinazzo * Kum-Kum Girolamo * Salvatore Gitto * Cynthia Giugliano * Mon
Gjonbalaj * Dianne Gladstone * Keith Glascoe * Thomas Irwin Glasser * Harry
Glenn * Barry H. Glick * Steven Glick * John T. Gnazzo * William Robert
Godshalk * Michael Gogliormella * Brian Fredric Goldberg * Jeffrey Grant
Goldflam * Michelle Goldstein * Monica Goldstein * Steven Goldstein * Andrew H. Golkin * Dennis James Gomes * Enrique Antonio Gomez *
Jose Bienvenido Gomez * Manuel Gomez, Jr. * Wilder Alfredo Gomez * Jenine
Nicole Gonzalez * Mauricio Gonzalez * Rosa Gonzalez * Calvin J. Gooding * Harry
Goody * Kiran Reddy Gopu * Catherine C. Gorayeb * Kerene Gordon * Sebastian
Gorki * Kieran Joseph Gorman * Thomas Edward Gorman * Michael Edward Gould * Yuji
Goya * Jon Richard Grabowski * Christopher Michael Grady * Edwin J. Graf III * David
Martin Graifman * Gilbert Franco Granados * Elvira Granitto * Winston Arthur
Grant * Christopher S. Gray * James Michael Gray * Tara McCloud Gray * Linda
Catherine Grayling * John M. Grazioso * Timothy George Grazioso * Derrick Auther Green * Wade B. Green * Elaine
Myra Greenberg * Gayle R. Greene * James Arthur Greenleaf, Jr. * Eileen Marsha
Greenstein * Elizabeth Martin Gregg * Denise
Gregory * Donald H. Gregory * Florence Moran Gregory * Pedro Grehan * John Michael Griffin * Tawanna Sherry
Griffin * Joan Donna Griffith * Warren Grifka * Ramon Grijalvo * Joseph F.
Grillo * David Joseph Grimner * Kenneth George Grouzalis * Joseph Grzelak * Matthew
James Grzymalski * Robert Joseph Gschaar * Liming Gu * Jose Guadalupe * Cindy
Yan Zhu Guan * Joel Guevara Gonzalez * Geoffrey E. Guja * Joseph Gullickson * Babita
Girjamatie Guman * Douglas Brian Gurian * Janet Ruth Gustafson * Philip T. Guza
* Barbara Guzzardo * Peter M. Gyulavary * Gary Robert Haag * Andrea Lyn
Haberman * Barbara Mary Habib * Philip Haentzler * Nezam A. Hafiz * Karen
Elizabeth Hagerty * Steven Michael Hagis * Mary Lou Hague * David Halderman * Maile
Rachel Hale * Richard B. Hall * Vaswald
George Hall * Robert J. Halligan * Vincent Gerard Halloran * James Douglas
Halvorson * Mohammad Salman Hamdani * Felicia Hamilton * Robert Hamilton * Frederic
K. Han * Christopher J. Hanley * Sean S. Hanley * Valerie Joan Hanna * Thomas
Hannafin * Kevin James Hannaford * Michael Lawrence Hannan * Dana R Hannon * Vassilios
G. Haramis * James A. Haran * Jeffrey Pike Hardy * Timothy John Hargrave * Daniel
Edward Harlin * Frances Haros * Harvey Harrell * Stephen G. Harrell * Melissa
Marie Harrington * Aisha Anne Harris * Stewart Dennis Harris * John Patrick
Hart * John Clinton Hartz * Emeric
Harvey * Thomas Theodore Haskell, Jr. * Timothy Haskell * Joseph John Hasson
III * Leonard W. Hatton * Terence S. Hatton * Michael Haub * Timothy Aaron
Haviland * Donald G. Havlish, Jr. * Anthony Hawkins * Nobuhiro Hayatsu * Philip Hayes * William
Ward Haynes * Scott Jordan Hazelcorn * Michael K. Healey * Roberta B. Heber * Charles
Francis Xavier Heeran * John F. Heffernan * H. Joseph Heller, Jr. * Joann L.
Heltibridle * Mark F. Hemschoot * Ronnie Lee Henderson * Brian Hennessey * Michelle Marie Henrique * Joseph Henry * William
Henry * John Christopher Henwood * Robert Allan Hepburn * Mary Herencia * Lindsay
C. Herkness III * Harvey Robert Hermer * Claribel Hernandez * Eduardo Hernandez
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Victorine Hinds * Neal O. Hinds * Mark D. Hindy * Katsuyuki Hirai * Heather
Malia Ho * Tara Yvette Hobbs * Thomas Anderson Hobbs * James J. Hobin * Robert
Wayne Hobson * DaJuan Hodges * Ronald George Hoerner * Patrick A. Hoey * Marcia
Hoffman * Stephen G. Hoffman * Frederick Joseph Hoffmann * Michele L. Hoffmann
* Judith Florence Hofmiller * Thomas Warren Hohlweck, Jr. * Jonathan R. Hohmann
* John Holland * Joseph F. Holland * Elizabeth Holmes * Thomas Holohan * Bradley Hoorn * James P. Hopper * Montgomery
McCullough Hord * Michael Horn * Matthew Douglas Horning * Robert L. Horohoe, Jr. * Aaron Horwitz * Charles
Houston * Uhuru G. Houston * George Howard * Michael C. Howell * Steven Leon
Howell * Jennifer L. Howley * Milagros Hromada * Marian R. Hrycak * Stephen Huczko, Jr. * Kris Robert Hughes * Paul
Rexford Hughes * Robert Thomas Hughes * Thomas Hughes * Timothy Robert Hughes *
Susan Huie * Lamar Hulse * William Christopher Hunt * Kathleen Anne Hunt-Casey
* Joseph Hunter * Robert R. Hussa * Abid Hussain * Thomas Edward Hynes * Walter
G. Hynes * Joseph Anthony Ianelli * Zuhtu Ibis * Jonathan Lee Ielpi * Michael
Iken * Daniel Ilkanayev * Frederick Ill, Jr. * Abraham Nethanel Ilowitz * Anthony
P. Infante, Jr. * Louis S. Inghilterra, Jr. * Christopher Noble Ingrassia * Paul
Innella * Stephanie Veronica Irby * Douglas Irgang * Kristin A. Irvine Ryan * Todd
Antione Isaac * Erik Isbrandtsen * Taizo Ishikawa * Aram Iskenderian, Jr. * John
F. Iskyan * Kazushige Ito * Aleksandr Valeryevich Ivantsov * Virginia May
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* Jason Kyle Jacobs * Michael Grady Jacobs * Steven A. Jacobson * Ricknauth
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James * Gricelda E. James * Priscilla James * Mark Steven Jardim * Muhammadou
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Jerath * Farah Jeudy * Hweidar Jian * Eliezer Jimenez, Jr. * Luis Jimenez, Jr.
* Fernando Jimenez-Molina * Charles
Gregory John * Nicholas John * LaShawna Johnson * Scott Michael Johnson * William
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Jones * Christopher D. Jones * Donald T. Jones * Donald W. Jones * Linda Jones * Mary S. Jones * Andrew Jordan
* Robert Thomas Jordan * Albert Gunnia Joseph * Guylene Joseph * Ingeborg
Joseph * Karl Henry Joseph * Stephen Joseph * Jane Eileen Josiah * Anthony
Jovic * Angel L. Juarbe, Jr. * Karen Sue Juday * Mychal F. Judge * Paul William Jurgens * Thomas
Edward Jurgens * Kacinga Kabeya * Shashikiran Lakshmikantha Kadaba * Gavkharoy
Kamardinova * Shari Kandell * Howard Lee Kane * Jennifer Lynn Kane * Vincent D.
Kane * Joon Koo Kang * Sheldon Robert Kanter * Deborah H. Kaplan * Alvin Peter
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* Don Jerome Kauth, Jr. * Hideya Kawauchi * Edward T. Keane * Richard M. Keane
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Russell Keene III * Joseph John Keller * Peter R. Kellerman * Joseph P. Kellett
* Frederick H. Kelley, Jr. * James
Joseph Kelly * Joseph A. Kelly * Maurice P. Kelly * Richard John Kelly, Jr. * Thomas
Michael Kelly * Thomas Richard Kelly * Thomas W. Kelly * Timothy Colin Kelly * William
Hill Kelly, Jr. * Robert Clinton Kennedy * Thomas J. Kennedy * John R. Keohane * Ronald T. Kerwin * Howard L. Kestenbaum * Douglas D. Ketcham * Ruth
Ellen Ketler * Boris Khalif * Sarah Khan * Taimour Firaz Khan * Rajesh
Khandelwal * Oliva Khemrat * SeiLai Khoo * Michael Kiefer * Satoshi Kikuchihara
* Andrew Jay-Hoon Kim * Lawrence D. Kim * Mary Jo Kimelman * Andrew M. King * Lucille
Teresa King * Robert King, Jr. * Lisa King-Johnson * Takashi Kinoshita * Chris
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Frank J. Koestner * Ryan Kohart * Vanessa Kolpak * Irina Kolpakova * Suzanne
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Charles LaFrance * Juan Lafuente * Neil Kwong-Wah Lai * Vincent Anthony Laieta
* William David Lake * Franco Lalama * Chow Kwan Lam * Stephen LaMantia * Amy Hope Lamonsoff * Nickola
Lampley * Robert Lane * Brendan Mark Lang * Rosanne P. Lang * Vanessa Langer * Mary Louise Langley * Peter
J. Langone * Thomas Michael Langone * Michele Bernadette Lanza * Ruth Sheila Lapin * Carol Ann LaPlante * Ingeborg
Lariby * Robin Blair Larkey * Christopher Randall Larrabee * Hamidou S. Larry *
Scott Larsen * John Adam Larson * Gary Edward Lasko * Nicholas Craig Lassman * Paul
Laszczynski * Jeffrey G. LaTouche * Charles
Laurencin * Stephen James Lauria * Maria LaVache * Denis Francis Lavelle * Jeannine
Mary LaVerde * Anna A. Laverty * Steven Lawn * Robert Lawrence * Nathaniel Lawson * Eugen Gabriel Lazar * James
Patrick Leahy * Joseph Gerard Leavey * Neil Joseph Leavy * Leon Lebor * Kenneth
Charles Ledee * Alan J. Lederman * Elena F. Ledesma * Alexis Leduc * David S.
Lee * Gary H. Lee * Hyun Joon Lee * Juanita Lee * Kathryn Blair Lee * Linda C. Lee * Lorraine Mary Lee * Myoung
Woo Lee * Richard Y. Lee * Stuart Soo-Jin Lee * Yang Der Lee * Stephen Paul
Lefkowitz * Adriana Legro * Edward Joseph Lehman * Eric Andrew Lehrfeld * David
Leistman * David Prudencio Lemagne * Joseph Anthony Lenihan * John Joseph
Lennon, Jr. * John Robinson Lenoir * Jorge Luis Leon * Matthew Gerard Leonard *
Michael Lepore * Charles A. Lesperance * Jeff Leveen * John Dennis Levi * Alisha Caren Levin * Neil David Levin * Robert
Levine * Robert Michael Levine * Shai Levinhar * Adam Jay Lewis * Margaret
Susan Lewis * Ye Wei Liang * Orasri Liangthanasarn * Daniel F. Libretti * Ralph
Licciardi * Edward Lichtschein * Steven Barry Lillianthal * Carlos R. Lillo * Craig
Damian Lilore * Arnold A. Lim * Darya Lin * Wei Rong Lin * Nickie L. Lindo * Thomas
V. Linehan, Jr. * Robert Thomas Linnane * Alan P. Linton, Jr. * Diane Theresa
Lipari * Kenneth Lira * Francisco Alberto Liriano * Lorraine Lisi * Paul Lisson
* Vincent M. Litto * Ming-Hao Liu * Nancy Liz * Harold Lizcano * Martin Lizzul
* George A. Llanes * Elizabeth C. Logler * Catherine Lisa Loguidice * Jerome
Robert Lohez * Michael William Lomax * Laura Maria Longing * Salvatore Lopes * Daniel
Lopez * George Lopez * Luis Manuel Lopez * Manuel L. Lopez * Joseph Lostrangio
* Chet Dek Louie * Stuart Seid Louis * Joseph
Lovero * Jenny Seu Kueng Low Wong * Michael W. Lowe * Garry W. Lozier * John Peter Lozowsky * Charles
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Ludwig * Sean Thomas Lugano * Daniel Lugo * Marie Lukas * William Lum, Jr. * Michael
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Lutz * Linda Anne Luzzicone * Alexander Lygin * Farrell Peter Lynch * James
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Francis Lynch * Richard D. Lynch, Jr. * Robert Henry Lynch, Jr. * Sean P. Lynch
* Sean Patrick Lynch * Michael J. Lyons * Monica Anne Lyons * Patrick Lyons * Robert
Francis Mace * Jan Maciejewski * Catherine Fairfax Macrae * Richard Blaine
Madden * Simon Maddison Noell Maerz * Jennieann Maffeo * Joseph Maffeo * Jay
Robert Magazine * Brian Magee * Charles Wilson Magee * Joseph V. Maggitti * Ronald
Magnuson * Daniel L. Maher * Thomas Anthony Mahon * William J. Mahoney * Joseph
Daniel Maio * Takashi Makimoto * Abdu Ali Malahi * Debora I. Maldonado * Myrna
T. Maldonado-Agosto * Alfred Russell Maler * Gregory James Malone * Edward
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John McDowell, Jr. * Eamon J. McEneaney * John Thomas McErlean, Jr. * Daniel
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M. Lewin * Sara Elizabeth Low * Susan A.
Mackay * Karen Ann Martin * Thomas F.
McGuinness, Jr. * Christopher D. Mello *
Jeffrey Peter Mladenik * Carlos Alberto Montoya * Antonio Jesus Montoya Valdes * Laura Lee
Morabito * Mildred Naiman * Laurie Ann Neira * Renee Lucille Newell * Kathleen Ann Nicosia * Jacqueline June
Norton * Robert Grant Norton * John
Ogonowski * Betty Ann Ong * Jane M. Orth
* Thomas Nicholas Pecorelli * Berinthia B. Perkins * Sonia M. Puopolo * David
E. Retik * Jean Destrehan Roger * Philip Martin Rosenzweig * Richard Barry Ross * Jessica Leigh Sachs * Rahma Salie * Heather Lee Smith * Dianne
Bullis Snyder * Douglas Joel Stone * Xavier Suarez * Madeline Amy Sweeney * Michael Theodoridis * James Anthony Trentini
* Mary Barbara Trentini * Pendyala Vamsikrishna * Mary Alice Wahlstrom * Kenneth Waldie * John Joseph Wenckus * Candace Lee Williams *
Christopher Rudolph Zarba, Jr. * List of Victims on United Airlines Flight
175 * Alona Abraham * Garnet Edward Bailey * Mark Lawrence Bavis *
Graham Andrew Berkeley * Touri Bolourchi
* Klaus Bothe * Daniel Raymond Brandhorst * David Reed Gamboa Brandhorst * John Brett
Cahill * Christoffer Mikael Carstanjen *
John J. Corcoran III * Dorothy Alma de Araujo * Ana Gloria Pocasangre Debarrera * Robert John Fangman * Lisa Anne Frost * Ronald Gamboa * Lynn Catherine Goodchild * Peter M. Goodrich * Douglas Alan Gowell * Francis Edward Grogan * Carl Max Hammond, Jr. * Christine Lee Hanson * Peter Burton Hanson * Susan Kim Hanson * Gerald Francis Hardacre * Eric Hartono * James Edward Hayden * Herbert Wilson Homer * Michael Robert
Horrocks * Robert Adrien Jalbert * Amy
N. Jarret * Ralph Kershaw * Heinrich
Kimmig * Amy R. King * Brian Kinney * Kathryn
L. LaBorie * Robert G. Leblanc * Maclovio Lopez, Jr. * Marianne Macfarlane * Alfred Gilles Marchand
* Louis Mariani * Juliana McCourt * Ruth Magdaline McCourt * Wolfgang Peter Menzel * Shawn M. Nassaney * Marie
Pappalardo * Patrick J. Quigley IV * Frederick Charles Rimmele III * James Roux * Jesus Sanchez * Victor J. Saracini * Mary Kathleen Shearer * Robert M. Shearer * Jane
Louise Simpkin * Brian David Sweeney * Michael C. Tarrou * Alicia N. Titus * Timothy
Ray Ward * William Michael Weems * List
of Victims at the Pentagon (Not Including Flight 77) * SPC Craig S. Amundson, USA * YN3 Melissa
Rose Barnes, USN * MSG Max J. Beilke, Retired * IT2 Kris Romeo Bishundat, USN *
Carrie R. Blagburn * COL Canfield D. Boone, ARNG * Donna M. Bowen * Allen P.
Boyle * ET3 Christopher L. Burford, USN * ET3 Daniel M. Caballero, USN * SFC
Jose O. Calderon-Olmedo, USA * Angelene C. Carter * Sharon A. Carver * SFC John
J. Chada, USA, Retired * Rosa Maria Chapa * Julian T. Cooper * LCDR Eric A.
Cranford, USN * Ada M. Davis * CAPT Gerald F. DeConto, USN * LTC Jerry D.
Dickerson, USA * IT1 Johnnie Doctor, Jr., USN * CAPT Robert E. Dolan, Jr., USN
* CDR William H. Donovan, USN * CDR Patrick Dunn, USN * AG1 Edward T. Earhart,
USN * LCDR Robert R. Elseth, USNR * SK3 Jamie L. Fallon, USN * Amelia V. Fields
* Gerald P. Fisher * AG2 Matthew M. Flocco, USN * Sandra N. Foster * CAPT
Lawrence D. Getzfred, USN * Cortez Ghee * Brenda C. Gibson * COL Ronald F.
Golinski, USA, Retired * Diane Hale-McKinzy * Carolyn B. Halmon * Sheila M.S.
Hein * ET1 Ronald J. Hemenway, USN * MAJ Wallace Cole Hogan, Jr., USA * SSG
Jimmie I. Holley, USA, Retired * Angela M. Houtz * Brady Kay Howell * Peggie M.
Hurt * LTC Stephen N. Hyland, Jr., USA * Lt Col Robert J. Hymel, USAF, Retired
* SGM Lacey B. Ivory, USA * LTC Dennis M. Johnson, USA * Judith L. Jones * Brenda
Kegler * LT Michael S. Lamana, USN * David W. Laychak * Samantha L.
Lightbourn-Allen * MAJ Stephen V. Long, USA * James T. Lynch, Jr. * Terence M.
Lynch * OS2 Nehamon Lyons IV, USN * Shelley A. Marshall * Teresa M. Martin * Ada
L. Mason-Acker * LTC Dean E. Mattson, USA * LTG Timothy J. Maude, USA * Robert
J. Maxwell * Molly L. McKenzie * Patricia E. Mickley * MAJ Ronald D. Milam, USA
* Gerard P. Moran, Jr. * Odessa V. Morris * ET1 Brian A. Moss, USN * Teddington
H. Moy * LCDR Patrick J. Murphy, USNR * Khang Ngoc Nguyen * DM2 Michael A.
Noeth, USN * Ruben S. Ornedo * Diana B. Padro * LT Jonas M. Panik, USNR * MAJ
Clifford L. Patterson, Jr., USA * LT Darin H. Pontell, USNR * Scott Powell * CAPT
Jack D. Punches, USN, Retired * AW1 Joseph J. Pycior, Jr., USN * Deborah A.
Ramsaur * Rhonda Sue Rasmussen * IT1
Marsha D. Ratchford, USN * Martha M. Reszke * Cecelia E. (Lawson) Richard * Edward
V. Rowenhorst * Judy Rowlett * SGM Robert E. Russell, USA, Retired * CW4
William R. Ruth, ARNG * Charles E. Sabin, Sr. * Marjorie C. Salamone * COL
David M. Scales, USA * CDR Robert A. Schlegel, USN * Janice M. Scott * LTC
Michael L. Selves, USA, Retired * Marian H. Serva * CDR Dan F. Shanower, USN * Antionette
M. Sherman * Diane M. Simmons * Cheryle D. Sincock * ITC Gregg H. Smallwood,
USN * LTC Gary F. Smith, USA, Retired * Patricia J. Statz * Edna L. Stephens * SGM
Larry L. Strickland, USA * LTC Kip P. Taylor, USA * Sandra C. Taylor * LTC Karl
W. Teepe, USA, Retired * SGT Tamara C. Thurman, USA * LCDR Otis V. Tolbert, USN
* SSG Willie Q. Troy, USA, Retired * LCDR Ronald J. Vauk, USNR * LTC Karen J.
Wagner, USA * Meta L. (Fuller) Waller * SPC Chin Sun Pak Wells, USA * SSG
Maudlyn A. White, USA * Sandra L. White * Ernest M. Willcher * LCDR David L.
Williams, USN * MAJ Dwayne Williams, USA * RMC Marvin Roger Woods, USN, Retired
* IT2 Kevin W. Yokum, USN * ITC Donald M. Young, USN * Edmond G. Young, Jr. * Lisa
L. Young * * List
of Victims on American Airlines Flight 77 *
Paul W. Ambrose * Yeneneh Betru * Mary Jane Booth * Bernard C. Brown, II * CAPT
Charles F. Burlingame III, USNR, Retired * Suzanne M. Calley * William E.
Caswell * David M. Charlebois * Sarah M. Clark * Asia S. Cottom * James D.
Debeuneure * Rodney Dickens * Eddie A. Dillard * LCDR Charles A. Droz III, USN,
Retired * Barbara G. Edwards * Charles S. Falkenberg * Dana Falkenberg * Zoe
Falkenberg * J. Joseph Ferguson * Darlene E. Flagg * RADM Wilson F. Flagg,
USNR, Retired * 1stLt Richard P. Gabriel, USMC, Retired * Ian J. Gray * Stanley
R. Hall * Michele M. Heidenberger * Bryan C. Jack * Steven D. Jacoby * Ann C.
Judge * Chandler R. Keller * Yvonne E. Kennedy * Norma Cruz Khan * Karen Ann
Kincaid * Dong Chul Lee * Jennifer Lewis * Kenneth E. Lewis * Renee A. May * Dora
Marie Menchaca * Christopher C. Newton * Barbara K. Olson * Ruben S. Ornedo * Robert
Penninger * Robert R. Ploger III * Zandra F. Ploger * Lisa J. Raines * Todd H. Reuben * John P.
Sammartino * George W. Simmons * Donald D. Simmons * Mari-Rae Sopper * Robert
Speisman * Norma Lang Steuerle * Hilda E. Taylor * Leonard E. Taylor * Sandra
D. Teague * Leslie A. Whittington * CAPT John D. Yamnicky, Sr., USN, Retired * Vicki
Yancey * Shuyin Yang * Yuguag Zheng * * List of Victims on United Airlines Flight
93 *Christian Adams * Lorraine G. Bay * Todd
Beamer * Alan Beaven * Mark K. Bingham * Deora Frances Bodley * Sandra W.
Bradshaw * Marion Britton * Thomas E. Burnett Jr. * William Cashman * Georgine
Rose Corrigan * Patricia Cushing * Jason Dahl * Joseph Deluca * Patrick
Driscoll * Edward Porter Felt * Jane C. Folger * Colleen Fraser * Andrew Garcia
* Jeremy Glick * Lauren Grandcolas * Wanda A. Green * Donald F. Greene * Linda
Gronlund * Richard Guadagno * Leroy Homer, Jr. * Toshiya Kuge * CeeCee Lyles * Hilda
Marcin * Waleska Martinez * Nicole
Miller * Louis J. Nacke, II * Donald Arthur Peterson * Jean Hoadley Peterson * Mark
Rothenberg * Christine Snyder * John Talignani * Honor Elizabeth Wainio * Deborah
Ann Jacobs Welsh * Kristin Gould White *
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