The somber task of writing about families during this historic tragedy is a daunting one. What has inspired me are the long lines of relatives holding pictures of loved ones and the tributes to family members already known lost.
That seems to be what it all boils down to: families.
Those last-minute calls from victims trapped on hijacked planes or in burning buildings were to their families. Their instinct was to say "I love you"; it was their last gift.
No matter our family structure or our family circumstances, we are tied by blood or commitment to family. Even if we are in a trough of love gone stale or long-ago hurt, our last thoughts are of them, our family.
I am not a psychologist or a bereavement counselor. I am at a loss for words to those who suffer this kind of grief. So my words are to the unscathed.
Not knowing the day or the hour of our last "I love you," let there be many heart-filled "I love you's." Not knowing the day or the hour of our last "I forgive you" or "I'm sorry," let not an unnecessary moment pass without the healing blessing of those words.
The agony for some of those waiting in long lines for the worst news is caused by the weight of unspoken words, unfinished business with parents, spouses, siblings, children or fiances. It is a black cloud of regret that hangs over them, not just the overwhelming loss.
For those of us lucky enough to have our family intact, let us never again take for granted the comfort of a child's voice or the delight of their smile. Let us never again take for granted the wisdom of our parents or the stories of our ancestors. Let us never again take for granted the warmth of a body next to ours as we sleep -- or the breakfast we share the next morning.
Let us live each day with intentional love, unconditional love, affection and joy. It does not have to be our last gift. It can be, instead, our legacy.
(This opinion column was written by the associate director of the Albany diocesan Family Life Office.)