I have read over 700 tributes in the last 48 hours. I cry. My son suggested I drink water so I wouldn’t be totally dehydrated.

We lost so much.

Debbie’s husband lost her and her skills at organization for his band.

Florence brought the Salvation Army band into a restaurant she thought was too staid.

Eileen and Ivan weren’t married yet, but they both perished.

Brenda could have retired but didn’t.

Adam was married to Fern and wore a mazzuzah around his neck.

Stacey died and her friend lost a friend and her father in the attacks.

Wade shoveled snow for a pregnant neighbor.

Irina immigrated from Uzbekistan to have a better life.

Leobardo immigrated and sent money home to his wife and children.

Kip died at the Pentagon. Two weeks later his wife Nancy gave birth to their second son. Then she discovered she had cancer. She died quickly. Now the two boys are being raised by their uncle. They could have been with their dad, if not for those glory-seeking-murdering-martyr-excuses.

Daniel jumped around the fire station in glow-in-the-dark boxers, just to keep everyone awake once when they were on duty. (All they could see was the boxers!)

I remember Peter, Shimmy, Dan, and so many others.

We must remember them. We cannot forget them.

I wonder sometimes if I think I am doing penance, reading through all of these, watching the videos. Or if I simply think that we get going too easily in our lives and don’t realize how much we have lost and how near we are to losing it all permanently.

Manette’s tribute author suggested we do something nice for someone this week in honor of Manette. I am going to do that.