Getting the Voices site together is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I didn't just post the contributions, I've read every single one. They were put there, unedited, unrevised, just as the authors sent them, with all the emotion and tears that went into writing them.

I still don't know what I'm going to do to today. I know I'll be going to the cemetery at some point; in addition to visiting the resting place of Pete Ganci, I will also visit the place in the cemetery where the other local victims of 9/11 are buried, gathered together. After that, the day will stretch out before me and I'll be thankful for it.

I'll think about that day and remember everything; the silent sky, the smells, the streets at night glowing with candles lit by grieving neighbors.

At night we'll be going to Brooklyn Heights to get a clear view of the blue lights that will rise upward once more from the place where the World Trade Center buildings once stood.

I'll keep looking at the sky during the day, as if waiting for it all to happen again. I'll shudder at the sound of low-flying planes. I'll hug my children. A lot.

I'll read the paper and watch a little television and remember, and vow to never forget, to never let it go, but at the same time, to move on. To live and cherish and hope, always hope, for a better tomorrow.

There are so many voices to be heard, people yearning to get their stories out, to share their thoughts, to find some company in their grief, which is still as fresh as the day it cut through our hearts. Take in their voices, listen to them, mourn with them and then vow with me that there will be a better tomorrow, one where we no longer look at an airplane slicing through the clouds as a potential weapon, where we no longer fear the next big thing.

What would the voices of the 3,000 people who died on September 11, 2001 say to us if they could speak? I imagine they would tell us not to forget them, to carry them with us wherever we go. And they do speak to us, in a way. They speak to us through our hearts, just as my grandmother and my grandfather and friends and loved ones who have left this world do. Unlike my relatives, though, those 3,000 people belong to all of us. They are our legacy because they died representing us; representing freedom and life.

Life goes on. We carry with us memories, and not all of them are good ones. It is our duty to take the painful memories with us as we move along so we do not forget that we still have so much to learn from life.