tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36980377401663867332024-03-05T13:27:09.829-08:00The Gonzo MamaBio mom to one, full-time mama to four stepkids. Then, we adopted two more. Oh, and then we signed up for a long term placement of a newborn in 2016. She's still here.
When in the kitchen, I don my fabulous alter ego, Sexy Vegan Mama, at SexyVeganMama.com.
Sexual abuse survivor? Yup... got an alter ego for that, too: BarbaricYAWPgirl.com
In 2019, I started a #neurodiversitylibrary to serve my community: facebook.com/NCWLEND
#adoption #vegan #neurodiversity #actuallyautistic #NCWLENDChristina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-5282310346470939782022-12-13T10:04:00.009-08:002023-11-01T20:27:53.052-07:00"I Don't Remember You Being So... Autistic"<div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwEABuFdRoaPSv-3ABWWO6y9B8yQpuyDBlakSRi2-DPq9kRIAv8vcxHG-YCTFc6HY775hS_CIMNNjqochZsv23LWQvZ9PvEN6zavXlOBaBFt3c-bE311VwJUT5JdZtXuSjfDUIotPMJlkxgI8LW5Q2PtQij-KkIkzXQ7DpDdSdgh7NmPsolrVNWOv/s960/CM%20hearing%20protection%20lilac%20background.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Christina-Marie, a pink-haired female-presenting person wearing hearing protection." border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwEABuFdRoaPSv-3ABWWO6y9B8yQpuyDBlakSRi2-DPq9kRIAv8vcxHG-YCTFc6HY775hS_CIMNNjqochZsv23LWQvZ9PvEN6zavXlOBaBFt3c-bE311VwJUT5JdZtXuSjfDUIotPMJlkxgI8LW5Q2PtQij-KkIkzXQ7DpDdSdgh7NmPsolrVNWOv/w320-h320/CM%20hearing%20protection%20lilac%20background.png" title="Image is of me, a pink-haired, female-presenting person wearing a black and white top with a black and pink scarf and purple over-ear hearing protection. Background is lilac-colored." width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Image is of me, a pink-haired, <br />female-presenting person <br />wearing a black and white top <br />with a black and pink scarf and <br />pink over-ear hearing protection. <br />Background is lilac-colored.<br /></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Believe it or not, there are people in my world who still have a hard time accepting that I am autistic, because it doesn't fit with their memories of me in childhood or early adulthood. Some of those people have openly stated, "You never seemed autistic to me." Sometimes, I get the feeling they intend such a statement to be a compliment (it isn't). Other times, it seems to be more of a statement of doubt regarding my diagnosis.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are others who are able to easily accept and understand that I'm autistic and always have been, but some have suggested that I've become "more autistic" over time. Is that even possible? I mean, being autistic isn't like being caffeinated. I haven't just been pouring myself an extra cup of The Autism every morning for the last few years.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's what I've come up with:</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm exactly as autistic as I have been since birth. However, what those folks from my past remember as me being not-autistic or not-as-autistic is actually autistic me, in younger form, with more energy and desire to mask my neurotype and try to "pass" in an allistic (non-autistic) world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Whether they know it or not, what those people are saying is:</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>You used to put in more effort to make people like me feel more comfortable with you, despite the toll it took on your emotional, physical, and mental health.</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>The thing is, I never did "pass." I was always treated like an outsider by most of my peers, and the few people who did accept and value me knew exactly who and what I am. Maybe they didn't have a word for it ("autistic"), but they knew I was different than most people, and assimilation was not a requirement for their friendship. </div><div><br /></div><div>It took me a long time to realize two important things: First, the energy I spent attempting to appear like others was wasted... I would never be an insider to certain groups. Second, there are people out there who do not demand that energy as a condition for acceptance. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those two realizations were life-changing.</div><div><br /></div><div>No one outside my home knew it, but I could barely get through the day at school when I was young. I would come home and completely melt down--often in violent, harmful ways. I didn't have the knowledge or tools to understand why it happened, and I wished so very much that I could control it, but I couldn't. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I went off to college, there was no "home" to melt down in. My campus was very active and involved, and cultivated a climate of connection, so there was a lot of pressure to be social at all times. By the end of the first year, I was so burned out I had to drop out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Entering the workforce as a young adult was much the same. I had to get through each day, engaging with coworkers and clients or customers, until I could break away and break down. My "melt down" actions took different forms, and self-destructive or risky behavior was often how I dealt with the emotional toll of feeling like I had to be "on" all the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we grow up, a lot of societally-enforced messages about socializing and interacting with others are either precisely and methodically taught, or reinforced through aversive responses. That is, we are taught to say "please" and "thank you" and to share our things directly, but we are indirectly taught things like forced eye contact ("Look at me when I'm talking to you!"), that we must refrain from oversharing about our special interests ("Give it a rest, already! No one cares that you like to read about serial killers!"), and that we must--at all costs--try to behave, dress, speak, and present like our allistic peers ("Maybe they wouldn't tease you so much if you made more of an effort to fit in.").</div><div><br /></div><div>The result is that every interaction ("Good morning," for example) is dominated not by the external connection but by internal struggles and conflict. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Am I making enough eye contact? Too much? Am I staring?</i></div><div><i>Am I talking too much? Not enough? </i></div><div><i>Is it my turn to talk? </i></div><div><i>Are they getting angry? Bored? Annoyed? </i></div><div><i>Stop fidgeting! </i></div><div><i>Look at them when they are talking to you! </i></div><div><i>Don't talk about serial killers!</i></div><div><i>Act interested. It doesn't matter if you aren't.</i></div><div><i>What does "interested" look like?</i></div><div><i>Pay attention!</i></div><div><i>Don't stare!</i></div><div><i>Look at them when they are talking to you!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Add to that the pressure to make and have friends, when such relationships are confusing and confounding. Autistic kids and young adults are often taken advantage of because we are taught a lot of "rules" about making and having friends, and we assume that if we hold up our end of the deal (Be Kind. Share Your Things. Be Helpful.), other people will automatically be our friends. And when we think a person is our friend, we will often do what that person wants without questioning because we assume everyone follows the same rules about making and having friends. We may also make inappropriate overtures, such as gifting an expensive or personally precious item to someone who we think is our friend. The problem is, that person may or may not consider us a friend, and such overtures clue allistic peers in to the extent of our desperation for acceptance and make us targets for exploitation. </div><div><br /></div><div>The pressure to be accepted may never fully go away. I'm convinced of that. I'm 47 years old and it still hurts when I'm rejected by peers after I've followed the "rules" of making and having friends. It isn't so much that I truly need those relationships as it is that I've been conditioned to believe I need them, so the failure to cultivate them feels like personal failure. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, a couple years ago, I stopped trying so hard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the loss of a household member to COVID-19, the rest of the world shutting down proved to be incredibly healing for me. I no longer felt pressure to be "on" all the time, and my mental health improved.</div><div><br /></div><div>I realized it was the culmination of an incremental process of letting go of my own expectations that I would be able to assimilate into allistic culture, as well as eradicating my tendency to capitulate to the expectations of others. I had slowly been putting less pressure on myself to hide who and what I really am, and learning to embrace my true self. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shockingly, I didn't fail to succeed. I honestly expected to, but I was so weary I didn't care. I'd grown up believing that if I didn't "at least try to fit in" and meet the social and communicative expectations of others, I would be not only alone, but also barred from any opportunity I might want access to. </div><div><br /></div><div>I went back to college during the 2020 shutdown, but I did it on my own terms.</div><div><br /></div><div>I reached out to every professor before courses started and introduced myself. I told them I'm autistic, and what to expect from me in terms of communication and interaction. I told them my communication is sometimes considered blunt, but it is always honest. I stated eye contact is difficult for me, and lack of it should not be taken as lack of attention because I hear and learn more when I'm not forcing myself to maintain it. I told them what my needs are in terms of receiving communication and specifically, critique: Direct is best, because I won't pick up on suggestions offered gently. I told them what accommodations I qualified for through Disability Services, and accommodations I need that Disability Services can't offer me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I figured I'd just put it all out there, and take the pressure off myself to be or behave in any way that was inauthentic. If I was met with rejection, so be it, but I wasn't going to add the stress of having to "perform" as an allistic-passing person to the stress of being a non-traditional student who was already juggling parenting of multiple kids with newly added college commitments.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't rejected. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, I was thanked for the frank and productively critical disabled rights perspective I brought to classes. My work and talents were appreciated. Although I had a hard time relating to many of my classmates who were the ages of some of my kids, I found connection with several of my professors, and learned I am really, really good at a lot of things when I'm not distracted by forcing myself to behave or present in ways that are not natural for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've even made a few authentic friends, and it's comforting to know and understand the parameters of those friendships. There are no surprise rejections because they began with me being open about who I actually am, rather than a forced, performative version of myself I will ultimately be unable to maintain, longterm. </div><div><br /></div><div>Living authentically and openly autistic has been personally freeing, and it has opened far more doors for me than trying to "fit in" with a culture that has overwhelmingly rejected me in the past.</div><div><br /></div><div>It makes some people uncomfortable.</div><div><br /></div><div>It makes some people think I've become "more autistic" over time.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's distressing to some people that I don't do more to make them comfortable around me, as I have in the past. </div><div><br /></div><div>It makes some people think they are invited to critique my deliberate and conscientious decision to not cultivate in my autistic children the same lifelong pattern of self-abuse I developed. I am not interested in forcing them to mask their autistic behaviors, communication, and ways of experiencing the world. I don't teach them they need to change. Instead, I try to teach them about what I've learned about allistic people, and tips for engaging with them, when we must, without compromising or apologizing for who we are.</div><div><br /></div><div>I received a letter from my mother-in-law last year, detailing all the reasons she thinks I am failing my children, and all the reasons why people "hate you... but would never say so." Most of the things she listed were to do with my (autistic) communication style and ways of being in the world, whether she realized it or not. Her assessment was that she thinks I need to "find Jesus." (Been there, done that... dig far enough into my blog or read my first book and you'll find it, along with some seriously misguided political beliefs that I've since disavowed.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I've found myself, and it's enough.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I am enough.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm exactly as autistic as I have been since birth. That hasn't changed.</div><div><br /></div><div>What has changed is my willingness to compromise my own well-being--and that of my children--in order to gain the acceptance of people who are never going to fully grant it, anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><i><div><i><br /></i></div>"Like" <a href="http://facebook.com/TheGonzoMama" target="NEW">The Gonzo Mama on Facebook</a>, and don't forget to see what's cooking with <a href="http://SexyVeganMama.com" target="NEW">Sexy Vegan Mama</a> today!</i>
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<div class="fb-like" data-href="http://thegonzomama.com/" data-send="true" data-show-faces="true" data-width="450"></div>Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0Washington, USA47.7510741 -120.740138620.949039001153452 -155.8963886 74.553109198846542 -85.5838886tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-62032427549345422762020-01-06T11:15:00.002-08:002020-01-06T14:30:19.336-08:00Prioritizing My Health Means You Won't Be My Doctor, If You're Not Trauma-Informed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDFgebgkNQ6mrCwdARtKCmTVslANvyhD3vPvAIZ3l6A9cbqOWSrno8rO8J6odCkviD5o6Ac22FYxr0Lg0M48xZeRtZVYP4E72F5YdZHaY2osKG6SxThdY2XmQsHiJ4cJuDu-BTcYqc3o/s1600/I+need+you+to+stop+crying.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Image is white text on a dark gray background. Text reads: "I need you to stop crying. It's making my job more difficult." -- Some asshole doctors I've had to see. Watermark at bottom is for TheGonzoMama.com]" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDFgebgkNQ6mrCwdARtKCmTVslANvyhD3vPvAIZ3l6A9cbqOWSrno8rO8J6odCkviD5o6Ac22FYxr0Lg0M48xZeRtZVYP4E72F5YdZHaY2osKG6SxThdY2XmQsHiJ4cJuDu-BTcYqc3o/s320/I+need+you+to+stop+crying.png" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Image is white text on a dark gray background.<br />
Text reads: "I need you to stop crying. It's making my job<br />
more difficult." -- Some asshole doctors I've had to see.<br />
Watermark at bottom is for TheGonzoMama.com]</td></tr>
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<i><b>CW: This post contains discussion of gaslighting by medical practitioners, child sexual abuse, rape, and other topics that may be difficult to read, for some readers.</b></i><br />
<br />
Today, I'm going in for my first pelvic exam in 14 or so years. During that lapse in care, I've convinced myself that I'm dying of cervical cancer on more than one occasion, but even that fear hasn't prompted me to return to the stirrups.<br />
<br />
Not after what happened, last time, in 2006.<br />
<br />
There I was, in a horrible gown that did nothing to preserve my dignity, on my back, with my feet at an awkward elevation. The (male) doctor forcibly pried my knees apart as I cried and apologized, trying to explain that I was sexually abused as a child, and raped on more than one occasion as I got older.<br />
<br />
In the best way I knew how, at the time, I was begging for understanding and accommodation. I received neither, and I wasn't well enough versed in self-advocacy to stop the exam, and walk out.<br />
<br />
Neither was my husband versed in survivor advocacy, as he sat beside me, holding my hand and trying -- unsuccessfully -- to soothe me.<br />
<br />
When the doctor told me to stop sobbing because "it's making my job more difficult," my husband doubled his efforts to try to calm me, but they weren't working.<br />
<br />
When the doctor said, "This is part of being a woman. Millions of women are able to get this done, every year... Why don't you suck it up, so we can get this done?" I didn't protest.<br />
<br />
I dissociated.<br />
<br />
I left the appointment feeling as violated as I did after being raped, and vowed never to go back.<br />
<br />
And honestly, I wish that was the only time I experienced gaslighting by a medical provider, due to my personal trauma history, but it wasn't.<br />
<br />
Last year, after multiple visits to my primary care provider for a string of mysterious -- but serious -- symptoms that included unbelievable fatigue, weakness, migrating piercing pain, and the inability to walk some days, I begged him for a referral to Neurology, or Rheumatology, or both.<br />
<br />
I was pretty sure I had fibromyalgia, and I created a list of my symptoms consistent with the condition, as well as evidence I found online <a href="https://www.webmd.com/fibromyalgia/news/20040610/posttraumatic-stress-fibromyalgia-linked#1" target="_blank">linking Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) with fibro</a>.<br />
<br />
"I know my body, and something isn't right," I said.<br />
<br />
"Well, you ARE at the age (44) when things in the body start changing. There's a good chance this is hormonal," he said.<br />
<br />
"No. You don't understand. I can't pick up my toddler. I can't stand at the mirror long enough to put on makeup. I can't lift my wok to cook dinner. This isn't normal."<br />
<br />
"Here's what I think," he said. "I think you have a great deal of unresolved stress in your life, and it's manifesting in what we call Somatization Disorder, or Somatic Symptom Disorder. Do you know what those terms mean?"<br />
<br />
"They mean, basically, that it's in my head, right? That my mental state is making me physically sick. That I'm literally sick in the head, and it's fucking up my body. Do I have the gist of it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"Listen, here's the thing. Other than my body not working, I'm on top of the goddamn world. The legislation I've been working on the last five years finally became law. I'm doing well in my business. I have friends and supportive social connections. I just want my body to work. THIS ISN'T NORMAL."<br />
<br />
"I think you're really underestimating the effect that stress has on your body. Especially since you have a PTSD diagnosis," he said. "I'll give you a referral to a psychologist, but that's the only referral I'm going to give you. You haven't reported anything to me that warrants a referral to either neurology or rheumatology."<br />
<i><br /></i>
I started sobbing and crying, uncontrollably. I was so frustrated at not being listened to, and not being heard, I couldn't do anything else. I tried to protest through the heaving sobs, but he interrupted.<br />
<br />
"See, this is what I'm talking about. Your emotional response is not in line with the situation. This is a VERY concerning amount of emotion, and it's overwhelming for me."<br />
<br />
For him.<br />
<br />
My emotional response to being talked over, gaslighted, and unheard was overwhelming for HIM.<br />
<br />
I kept the appointment with the psychologist, who spent about ten minutes with me before essentially saying, "Oh, no, honey... This doesn't sound like somatization. You need to see a neurologist or rheumatologist." And then she put in the referral.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, after a ton of tests to rule out other possible causes, I received a diagnosis of fibromyalgia.<br />
<br />
To no one's fucking surprise.<br />
<br />
I mean, thank God the "gatekeeper" was trauma-informed, and refused to actually BE the gatekeeper my primary care provider had hoped she would be.<br />
<br />
I'd been looking for a new therapist, anyway, since my old counselor is awesome, but I had to pay out of pocket, since he doesn't bill insurance. I asked the psychologist if she'd do therapy with me, and she agreed. I really like her, and think I'll continue seeing her for the long haul.<br />
<br />
But last year really was a turning point for me, when it comes to what I will and will not tolerate in my health care.<br />
<br />
And the number one requirement I have for all providers, now, is that they MUST be <a href="https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/trauma-informed-care-what-it-is-and-why-its-important-2018101613562" target="_blank">trauma-informed</a>.<br />
<br />
What does that look like?<br />
<br />
Well, for me, it means my history of trauma won't be used "against" me, to overlook real and concerning symptoms.<br />
<br />
It means providers won't touch me without warning or permission.<br />
<br />
It means I won't be shamed for avoiding certain practices or providers, due to traumatic response.<br />
<br />
It means I won't be gaslighted.<br />
<br />
It means I won't be made to feel inferior because I struggle to endure invasive procedures that others are more easily able to cope with.<br />
<br />
It means my provider will actually listen to me, and not dismiss my concerns, opinions, and wishes, when it comes to my care.<br />
<br />
It means that my provider will understand and not be punitive if I have to stop a procedure, take a break, or leave and reschedule.<br />
<br />
It means that my providers will be willing to work together for my safety and comfort -- like when my therapist made a point of contacting the midwife who will be performing my pelvic exam to discuss possible triggers, and how to accommodate for them.<br />
<br />
It means I will receive care, on my terms, from providers who see all of me... not just my trauma history.<br />
<br />
In my opinion, ALL providers should be trauma-informed. After all, a majority of patients they will see have Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), or will have survived physical or sexual abuse or assault.<br />
<br />
I deserve better understanding and treatment than what I've experienced in the health care industry, and so do you.<br />
<br />
My health is too important to be put on hold out of fear. And so is yours.<br />
<i><br /></i>
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-78422411916868595022019-11-01T12:44:00.000-07:002019-11-01T12:44:15.045-07:00#AutisticsSpeakingDay: Growing Up Autistic Without a Diagnosis, and the Importance of Community<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO9-YrwNX9n7idlHUZhiWxUsM5RWdcBU8HRrx-nnK-5tsrXX0Rjbn9QmbDPUERNsmVB2roT5rRY1a5p9Nn9H1aelbiN25ZuZwRNK1ZBCKQM10FjaNEWayoJIWW3a7eMKHTY4kapAwQfk/s1600/young+CM+rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The author as a young child, with blonde hair and dressed in a pink jacket with a pink faux fur collar. She is looking down at a red rose." border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO9-YrwNX9n7idlHUZhiWxUsM5RWdcBU8HRrx-nnK-5tsrXX0Rjbn9QmbDPUERNsmVB2roT5rRY1a5p9Nn9H1aelbiN25ZuZwRNK1ZBCKQM10FjaNEWayoJIWW3a7eMKHTY4kapAwQfk/s320/young+CM+rose.jpg" title="" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me as a young child, with blonde hair and dressed <br />in a pink jacket with a pink faux fur collar, <br />looking down at a red rose.</td></tr>
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<i>CN: mention of suicidal ideation</i><br />
<br />
On <a href="https://autisticsspeakingday.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Autistics Speaking Day</a>, it seems appropriate to reflect upon the importance of community, but in doing so, I couldn't help but think about what life was like, before I found it.<br />
<br />
I was not a child who was indistinguishable from my peers.<br />
<br />
Instead, I was a child who stood out for various reasons:<br />
<br />
My mom says when I was a toddler, I didn't point out things that were readily apparent to others. That is to say, when we were in the car and drove past a herd of cows, I didn't point, and say, "Cows!" because obviously, there were cows. Why point it out? Everyone can see them, so what's the purpose of exclaiming the obvious?<br />
<br />
When I did speak at that age, people thought I was older, because I spoke like an adult. And that "tiny grown up" perception followed me throughout my childhood and youth, and a lot of times, it stood in the way of making friends, because kids my age thought I was arrogant, or weird, based on the way I spoke and tried to engage.<br />
<br />
When I started school, I interrupted and corrected teachers and other students, and never understood why that was viewed as rude, disruptive, or inappropriate -- and certainly never understood why I was reprimanded or disciplined for it.<br />
<br />
I had vocal and physical stims that were pointed out and mocked so many times by teachers and fellow students, I learned to try to stifle or hide them. I'll never forget my fourth grade teacher -- noticing how I scrunched my nose repeatedly during silent reading -- calling out from her desk at the front of the room, "That's not attractive, Christina-Marie." The entire class, naturally, turned to look, and laugh.<br />
<br />
I tried to pretend to like the things my peers liked. I tried to look the way my peers looked. I tried to talk like my peers talked. I devoured "girl culture" magazines, like YM, Teen, and Seventeen, hoping to unlock the secret to being accepted by the other girls, but nothing ever "fit."<br />
<br />
I did have a scant few friends that included me, but I always felt like an outsider, and worried so much that if I stopped trying so hard to be like them, they'd reject me. I probably imploded a lot of connections, either due to tiring of masking and pretending, or just sheer anxiety over what I imagined as inevitable... it's easier to walk away, than to be pushed away, you know?<br />
<br />
I never figured out how to fit in with other kids, and I always preferred books to people, because books were never complicated. Books never had indecipherable expectations.<br />
<br />
Teachers were equal parts fascinated, and frustrated, with me. If a subject interested me, I would dive into it voraciously, going far beyond the assigned coursework, but often became so fixated on a topic that it was difficult for me to "shift gears" and move on. And my struggles with executive function were hard for them to see, until they caused a "crisis."<br />
<br />
For example, my senior year, my English teacher -- who recognized that writing poetry was my jam, and that writing reports on books I'd already read several times was not -- assigned me to an independent study for the second semester. "Go publish a book of your poetry," he said.<br />
<br />
I spent nearly all of the semester studying publishing, design, and layout (instead of writing content) because I wanted the finished product to look great, lost a lot of my notes and original work, and ended up scrambling the last week of the semester to throw something together. It turned out really shoddy, and I could tell he was disappointed, but when I tried to explain how difficult it was for me to manage my time and materials, he didn't understand. He'd expected more from me, and I couldn't figure out how I'd failed so completely.<br />
<br />
And there always seemed to be rules about how to be in the world that I didn't understand.<br />
<br />
<b>Be honest!</b> <i>But not too honest... don't tell someone you think their haircut isn't flattering, if they ask you what you think. Instead, say, "Wow! It's so different!" or something like that, because it's rude to say, "I liked your hair better, before."</i><br />
<br />
<b>Be yourself!</b> <i>Unless your "self" is the kind of "annoying" person that doesn't know how to wait for their turn to talk. Or unless your "self" is a person who speaks or acts differently than their peers. You should at least TRY to fit in! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Express yourself! </b><i>But not like that. No, don't do that. I mean, express yourself, but don't expect people to understand you, if you do it like that. There is something to be said for conformity, at some level. Conformity keeps you safe. Non-conformity makes you a target.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Follow the rules! </b><i>But not all the rules need to be followed, all the time. Some rules are more important than others. And some people don't need to follow the rules, and sometimes, there are rules that you won't know, until and unless you fail to follow them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Most of my childhood and youth was lonelier than anyone knows.<br />
<br />
I spent equal amounts of time trying to be noticed, and trying not to be seen.<br />
<br />
I entertained thoughts of suicide more often than I'm comfortable admitting.<br />
<br />
"Why can't I...?" was a common mantra of self-hatred.<br />
<br />
Why can't I make and keep friends?<br />
Why can't I fit in?<br />
Why can't I say the right things?<br />
Why can't I do the right things?<br />
Why can't I figure out why they don't like me?<br />
Why can't I JUST be happy?<br />
Why can't I JUST be "normal?"<br />
Why can't I just... be accepted?<br />
<br />
Not being diagnosed as a child created a fantastic incubator for self-loathing.<br />
<br />
I never felt "seen" for who I was, and I could never figure out what was "wrong" with me.<br />
<br />
Learning a few years ago that I am autistic was like a baptism, if you believe in that sort of thing. It washed away everything I thought about myself that had come before -- even if it didn't erase the scabbed-over pain of rejection and being mocked. It made me new, and whole. It gave me hope.<br />
<br />
It also gave me community. And inspiration.<br />
<br />
It gave me the type of friends I so longed for when I was younger -- friends who understand, respect, and celebrate who I am.<br />
<br />
A welcome byproduct of that discovery was that it helped me to reconnect with and establish fresh relationships with people from my youth. No masks. No posturing. No more longing for friendships based on projection. Just, "Here I am. My world is quite lovely, and you're welcome to be part of it, if you'd like."<br />
<br />
I am more comfortable with who I am, and the world around me, now that I've been able to connect with autistic peers and mentors.<br />
<br />
That comfort and security are now so much a part of my being that I have no hesitation advocating for myself, or my children, when I or we need accommodations. I make no apologies for the way I need to access the world, and I don't encourage my children to, either.<br />
<br />
It is so vital to me that my autistic children not only have a strong sense of identity, but also a fierce sense of community.<br />
<br />
I never want them to struggle with trying to exist or behave in ways that are not genuine to them, and I never want them to feel like they have to hide parts of who they are, in order to be accepted, or listened to, or heard, or respected.<br />
<br />
It is boggling to me that some parents don't want their children assessed for autism, or don't tell their children they are autistic, because they "don't want to stigmatize them."<br />
<br />
To me, the only stigma surrounding autism is from people who don't understand it, or accept it.<br />
<br />
To me, not knowing I was autistic was so much more harmful and painful as a child and young adult! Because I didn't understand who I was, I wasn't able to connect with the world in any sort of genuine way, and it was lonely-making.<br />
<br />
I still struggle with things, at times. Identifying and explaining my emotions, for example. Working through and expressing those emotions, if I can identify them.<br />
<br />
That's one of the reasons I started seeing a new therapist, recently.<br />
<br />
She didn't have any real background on me, outside of knowing I was hoping to find a counselor who is trauma-informed, and knowing that I had experienced some significant gate-keeping by a medical provider, earlier this year.<br />
<br />
She made notes as I went through a short list of topics I'd brought.<br />
<br />
At the end, she said, "I'm looking over the notes I've made during this session, and I'm curious... Have you ever been assessed for autism?" I hadn't mentioned being autistic to her.<br />
<br />
There wasn't a note of pity in her voice. There wasn't any pathologizing. It was strictly an acknowledgement of how I communicate, and of who I am, and how I relate to the world.<br />
<br />
She sees me.<br />
<br />
I explained how I'd found so much support in the autistic community, and she celebrated with me.<br />
<br />
I knew I'd found a safe place. I'd found a place where the need for community is not only acknowledged, but when it is found, it is celebrated, and recognized as a strength.<br />
<br />
The autistic community gives me strength, and so much more.<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-31977952631799377742019-09-11T13:14:00.001-07:002019-09-11T13:14:53.962-07:00Today, and Every Day... We Remember<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4KqONCOAgrldq_rqgrBbAMRCSZDzHHbWdJDWac6bmz2udx3KLnzsTsdhxzM26JoCzqFwsGC9wG8VkS0GO6Tqzp8UGMKezG0wLmrO6TO15BcVOLo0jHDPBHCvskm3kA6VDSg2YzagiDg/s1600/project2996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4KqONCOAgrldq_rqgrBbAMRCSZDzHHbWdJDWac6bmz2udx3KLnzsTsdhxzM26JoCzqFwsGC9wG8VkS0GO6Tqzp8UGMKezG0wLmrO6TO15BcVOLo0jHDPBHCvskm3kA6VDSg2YzagiDg/s320/project2996.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In 2009, I signed up for a cooperative blogging project called <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>.<br />
<br />
The idea was to ask bloggers across the country to each choose a name from the list of 2,996 lives, tragically lost on September 11, 2001, and write a tribute to that person's life.<br />
<br />
That year, I asked to be assigned a name at random.<br />
<br />
I didn't anticipate the magnitude of the feelings that would consume me as I researched the life of the person belonging to that single name.<br />
<br />
That particular name was inextricably linked to another name on the list -- a spouse -- who was also lost, that day.<br />
<br />
Such is the case with tragedy, and especially one of the caliber of devastation that occurred on 9/11/01.<br />
<br />
Some families lost several loved ones, that day.<br />
<br />
In some cases, folks who had been best friends since childhood perished together on their way to a vacation.<br />
<br />
Even those who did not pass with a loved one by their side are still linked, through tragedy. All those names... all those names... all those names weave a tapestry of grief and loss.<br />
<br />
However, that tapestry is created of individual threads: each unique, each relevant, and each vibrant.<br />
<br />
It is those individual threads which Project 2,996 seeks to recognize and pay tribute to.<br />
<br />
Who were they, before they were a name on a list? What did they do, and who did they love, and how is the world changed by their existence -- rather than changed by their death?<br />
<br />
And so... we remember.<br />
<br />
We remember each soul, each life as it was lived, rather than how it was taken.<br />
<br />
Over the years, I've learned about more lives, and added more tributes. When I visited the memorial at Ground Zero in NYC a few years ago, I sought out the memorial plaques for those whose tributes had appeared on this blog.<br />
<br />
It was lightly raining, and the gray afternoon sky folded over me like a blanket as I touched each plate, my fingers tracing the etched names.<br />
<br />
"I know this person," I whispered.<br />
<br />
I'd never met any of those people, of course.<br />
<br />
But I knew them.<br />
<br />
I spent time learning about their lives, re-reading their tributes each year, committing to memory the details their friends and families shared.<br />
<br />
I may never have met them, but I <i>know</i> them.<br />
<br />
I hope you'll take the time to know them, too.<br />
<br />
Here's a list of tributes which have appeared on my blog, as part of Project 2,996:<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
</h4>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2013/09/project-2996-remember-christopher-zarba.html" target="_blank">Remember Christopher Zarba</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2013/09/project-2996-remember-renee-newell.html" target="_blank">Remember Renee Newell</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-christian-adams.html" target="_blank">Remember Christian Adams</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-christoffer.html" target="_blank">Remember Christoffer Carstanjen</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-samantha.html" target="_blank">Remember Samantha Lightbourn-Allen</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-shannon-lewis.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Shannon Lewis Adams</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-ceecee-lyles.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember CeeCee Lyles</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-krystine-c.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Krystine C. Bordenabe</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-norma-lang.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Norma Lang Steuerle</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-pendyala-vamsi.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Pendyala "Vamsi" Vamsikrishna and Prasanna Kalahasthi - a Victim of Grief</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-paige-farley.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Paige Farley-Hackel</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-shekhar-kumar.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Shekhar Kumar</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-andre-g-fletcher.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Andre G. Fletcher</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-matthew-gerard.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Matthew Gerard Leonard</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-kenneth-watson.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Kenneth Watson</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-deborah-merrick.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Deborah Merrick</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-joseph-dipilato.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Joseph DiPilato</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-rahma-salie.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Rahma Salie</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-michael.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Michael Theodoridis</a></div>
<div style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-zandra-cooper.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"></a><a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2014/09/project-2996-remember-zandra-cooper.html" style="color: #3778cd; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">Remember Zandra Cooper Ploger</a></div>
</h2>
<br /> Please take the time to read and share their stories.<div>
<b>And, above all, please... never forget.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-78144175126474870232019-09-09T11:42:00.000-07:002019-09-10T09:48:33.296-07:00Teaching Kids About Neurodiversity and Self-Advocacy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MB0zO1UOV4hkvM-vYOEQdVCbHTwTcMfdEOQYe3OjUhi1tmNHlsBBhUE9tFy-Pm6rT8-nT-6wRnmdbWBa0OS3PWX8IGJCgLj2CJUdsv1HlCiOxAEu4s8Wq-jdUWzBSS98HPyZmqpRNEw/s1600/51727713_10214350343894620_3663716801247707136_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Image is of almost-13-year old Snugglebug, a female person with dark hair and green eyes, with her mother, a female person with pink hair and green eyes. They are both smiling at the camera." border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MB0zO1UOV4hkvM-vYOEQdVCbHTwTcMfdEOQYe3OjUhi1tmNHlsBBhUE9tFy-Pm6rT8-nT-6wRnmdbWBa0OS3PWX8IGJCgLj2CJUdsv1HlCiOxAEu4s8Wq-jdUWzBSS98HPyZmqpRNEw/s400/51727713_10214350343894620_3663716801247707136_n.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image is of almost-13-year old Snugglebug, a female person with dark hair and green eyes, with her mother, a female person with pink hair and green eyes. They are both smiling at the camera.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Update 9/10/19:</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>I didn't expect for this post to be so widely-read, but I am glad that it has been, and continues to be.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>I would be remiss if I didn't point out the ways folks can promote understanding and acceptance of neurodiversity in their own communities.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>The first thing, obviously, is to talk to your children. Make conversations about neurodiversity part of routine discussions in your home.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>Another powerful thing you can do is to support <a href="https://geekclubbooks.com/2018/08/neurodiversity-libraries/" target="_blank">neurodiversity libraries</a> in your area -- and beyond.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>If you're so inclined, please head to Facebook to "like" my brand-new neurodiversity library, <a href="http://facebook.com/NCWLEND" target="_blank">North Central Washington Library for Education on NeuroDiversity (NCW LEND)</a>, and -- if you're able -- please consider sponsoring a book from our <a href="https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2GGMFTR9BCX7M" target="_blank">library wishlist on Amazon</a>. Thank you!</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<b><i>__________________________</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
My Snugglebug will be 13 in a few short days.<br />
<br />
I love this age -- this stretching of wings, testing of boundaries, questioning of All The Things. It's pretty amazing to see a once-child morphing into an almost-adult, and begin to embrace their passions.<br />
<br />
Snugglebug is simultaneously blessed and burdened by an abundance of compassion, empathy, and understanding of social justice.<br />
<br />
I say "blessed," because it is a notable gift to instinctively see all people as worthy of dignity and respect.<br />
<br />
I say "burdened," because... Because sometimes, the world is a pretty overwhelming place for those who are attuned to the mistreatment of others. Once injustice is seen, it can't be unseen, and when it's everywhere... it can make a person begin to lose hope.<br />
<br />
That being said, Snugglebug is a fierce self-advocate, and an advocate for others.<br />
<br />
This space -- this time of life -- she's in is simultaneously beautiful, and raw.<br />
<br />
She's full of energy, right now, and tackling ableism every time I turn around. She knocks down one challenge, and is immediately ready for the next. I have to remind her sometimes that a little bit of down time for self-care and spiritual nourishment is not only okay, but necessary.<br />
<br />
Snugglebug is neurodivergent. That is, her neurology falls outside the societal expectation of "normal." She has an Individualized Education Program (IEP) at school, which provides reasonable accommodations for her to access and navigate her education.<br />
<br />
We've made a point of including her in IEP meetings and discussions -- even before she felt ready to significantly contribute her own ideas. This was, and is, important to us, because:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>We presume competence in our children.</li>
<li>We want her to see advocacy in action.</li>
<li>We want her to see her parents and others standing up for her, and that she is worth advocating for.</li>
<li>We want to model to her effective language for self-advocacy, when she's ready to use it.</li>
<li>We want her to have a voice in plans that involve her.</li>
<li>We value her input, when it comes to effective strategies and accommodations for her. <i>She is the authority on her own lived experience.</i></li>
<li>We want her to hear and know what is in her plan, so she can self-advocate when it's not being followed.</li>
</ul>
<div>
You see, I am NOT my daughter's voice, nor is any other parent the voice of their child.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our job, as parents, is to help cultivate confidence in our children, and to amplify their voices until they're ready to independently assert themselves... but never to speak FOR them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>We talk a lot about neurodiversity in our home. </i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We talk about how differences among brains and development are normal within nature, and among humans. We talk about how some people are good at certain things, but might need support to do other things. We talk about how everyone -- no matter how their brain works -- is worthy of respect and support.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And, we talk about ways to stand up for ourselves and others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a result, here are a few actions which Snugglebug has independently taken in the last few weeks:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When a speech therapist was telling another child not to "squawk" during instructional time, Snugglebug was able to identify to the therapist that the child was vocally stimming, and that some people listen better when they stim. She stood up for the other child, and reminded the therapist that autistic people should never be forced to stifle or abstain from stimming.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When a new teacher, on the first day of school, emphasized to the class the importance of maintaining eye contact when the teacher is speaking, Snugglebug was able to write a thoughtful, respectful letter to the teacher, reminding her that eye contact is difficult or even painful for some people -- including Snugglebug -- and that her teacher's words made her feel unaccepted, misunderstood, and unworthy. The teacher was receptive, and thanked Snugglebug for broadening her understanding of the students in her care.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When a different teacher refused to allow Snugglebug an accommodation that is in her IEP, Snugglebug was able to correctly identify that she was, by law, allowed the supportive accommodation. She had to do so in front of her entire class, because the teacher had denied the accommodation, in front of everyone. She was made to go to the office until the vice principal confirmed to the teacher that the accommodation was in her IEP and she should be readmitted to class... but she didn't give up. She respectfully stood her ground, because she knew her rights.</li>
</ul>
<div>
(I've shared these examples with Snugglebug's permission.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's important to note they most likely never would have happened if we didn't talk, as a family, about neurodiversity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She wouldn't have had the words to speak about stimming, and eye contact, if we hadn't discussed, as a family, that some people have different needs than others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They most likely never would have happened if we had shielded our child from her diagnoses, because we "don't want to stigmatize her," or "don't want her to be defined by her diagnosis," or "don't want to label her."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She understands who she is, how her brain works, and what will best help her to be successful. She's not floundering about, in an educational system designed largely for neurotypical students, without proper supports and access.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They mostly likely never would have happened if we didn't presume competence, and allow her to be included in conversations about which supports are most effective for her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She knew that provision was in her IEP because she, herself, had asked for it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mom, why do I have to be the one to stand up for what's right?" she asked me, the other night. "Why don't people just naturally do the right thing?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>There it is, </i>I thought. <i>There are the first signs of weariness. The first hints of recognition of the enormity of the fight. The first bits of realization creeping in, indicating that the fight for justice and equality is never over.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div>
And my heart broke a little bit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She'll be 13 in a few days.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thirteen is far too young an age for human beings to become cynical. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is far too young an age to feel the weight of injustice crushing down upon those still-developing shoulders.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have to believe there is hope. And I need my daughter to believe it, too.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Because you get it, sweetie. You understand things that a lot of other people don't -- like that everyone deserves support, and respect, and dignity. You understand that true inclusion benefits everyone. You understand that injustice is all around, and that even though some people mean well, their actions or beliefs are often hurting others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And, because you understand these things, you are in a position to change them, with your voice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You are in a position to set an example for those who don't know they can stand up for themselves. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When you stood in that classroom and said to that teacher, 'I believe I am allowed to do this, because it is in my IEP. Could you please check?' you showed other students in your class that it's okay to ask for and receive accommodations. You showed them it is okay to make sure that everyone has access to education. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe there are some students in there who have needed to self-advocate, but didn't know they could, or didn't know how.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now, they've seen it in action. They know how it works.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And do you think that teacher will ever send another student to the office, instead of providing the accommodation the student has asked for?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You taught the students, AND the teacher.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you taught the teacher who was insisting on eye contact. You did it in a respectful way, and helped her understand that not everyone has the same capacity or need for eye contact. She probably won't place that same emphasis on eye contact, and alienate some students, again, next year, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So things will be a little bit smoother for the next students who come along.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every time you stand up for yourself, and others, there is change. It might be a little bit hard to see, and it might feel tiny, but this...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This, honey, is how we change the world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One small, or medium, or great big act at a time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I want you to know that you have ZERO obligation to continue to do this work, if you don't want to, or if it gets too hard, or if you need a break, or it takes a heavy toll on you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will ALWAYS support you, no matter what."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She was silent for a few moments. I thought I'd overwhelmed her, or scared her, or upset her in some way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But then...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But then, she said, "I think I'm okay. I like using my voice. I think I'm going to keep doing it. And the more people that learn, the more people there will be to help teach others, right?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There, in that moment, I saw a glimpse of the adult she's becoming, and of the world she is daring to help create.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In that moment, I felt something that's hard to feel, some days.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I felt <i>HOPE</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<i><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-75317783409945480312018-12-14T12:32:00.000-08:002018-12-14T19:16:00.054-08:007 Reasons Why We Don’t Do Santa at Our House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiVjjM1DoB1CT7CBrfmXEazAFX6oDHuCZC6pM7eA4l_L5zmWhEeIZDFwpbk3ugkTe3vEfVE5IS2FK6lUxSmF_iGiyiPuWWGKR7G5KnkA_5S1iGK6iaGO3cJ1-v2QBAUNCaR2lCU_Ci3o/s1600/IMG_6597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiVjjM1DoB1CT7CBrfmXEazAFX6oDHuCZC6pM7eA4l_L5zmWhEeIZDFwpbk3ugkTe3vEfVE5IS2FK6lUxSmF_iGiyiPuWWGKR7G5KnkA_5S1iGK6iaGO3cJ1-v2QBAUNCaR2lCU_Ci3o/s320/IMG_6597.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even back then, I knew Santa was creepy AF.<br />
<br />
(Image is of the author, as a toddler girl. She sits<br />
on the lap of a man dressed as Santa, with a white<br />
beard and red holiday hat. The toddler has dark<br />
blonde hair with a white barrette in it. She wears<br />
blue pants with a floral-patterned top featuring<br />
a blue bow. The child looks frightened, and<br />
is crying.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I’ve come across an increasing number of folks who literally can’t believe that Santa never makes an appearance at my house, and that we don’t lead our children to believe that Santa is real.<br />
<br />
Sure... they can’t believe that, but expect their kids to believe that a jolly old elf makes a trip around the world in about twelve hours, and sneaks into children’s homes.<br />
<br />
Here’s the thing. There are a number of reasons why Santa isn’t a “thing” at my house:<br />
<br />
<i><b>1. I DON’T LIE TO MY CHILDREN. </b></i><br />
<br />
Let me just get that out of the way, first. I don’t lie to my children.<br />
<br />
I need my children to trust me. I need them to believe I’ll always tell them the truth, when they come to me with questions.<br />
<br />
Maybe telling the truth is paramount in my house because of my children’s history (most of my children come from hard places), but there it is.<br />
<br />
They have questions about their history, and that's expected. I want them to know that they can ask me anything -- absolutely anything -- and I will tell them the truth, at an age-appropriate level.<br />
<br />
I also want them to know and understand that the truth is the expectation in our home. I want and need them to be honest with me, too.<br />
<br />
Lying to children for fun, or to create a sense of “magic,” or out of a need for tradition is still lying.<br />
<br />
We create our own magic. We create our own traditions. And that magic, those traditions, come from a place of trust.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>2. SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, IS GOING TO TELL THEM.</i></b><br />
<br />
It’s inevitable that any secret I would try to keep from my kids is going to come out, at some time.<br />
<br />
I’d much rather have them learn the truth from me, than for them to feel like I’ve lied to them, and that they can’t trust me.<br />
<br />
Funnily enough, we had the opposite happen, when a teacher told Curlytop that Santa was real, and that her parents were lying to her when we said he’s not.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, stern words were had. A lot of them.<br />
<br />
I had to explain to the school that when adults tell children that their parents are liars, it grooms the child for abuse, because it conveys that the child can’t trust their parent.<br />
<br />
Yes, I just mentioned abuse in a discussion about Santa.<i> I sure did.</i><br />
<br />
Because when children are told “secrets” by adults they can’t share with their parents — no matter how small, it opens the door for adults with ill intent to isolate children, and ask them to keep bigger “secrets.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>3. MY KIDS ARE SUPER LITERAL.</i></b><br />
<br />
Taking things literally sort of comes with the territory in a house where autism rules supreme, but let me just say that the idea of someone seeing me when I’m sleeping is pretty <a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/search/label/FIRETRUCK%20FIRETRUCK%20FIRETRUCK" target="_blank">firetrucking </a>creepy.<br />
<br />
A lot of the whole Santa sham is about covert surveillance and someone coming into your home without getting caught.<br />
<br />
I mean, really.<br />
<br />
As an adult, that scares the hell out of me, and I don't even care about getting presents.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><i>4. I WANT MY KIDS TO EXPRESS THEIR EMOTIONS.</i></b><br />
<br />
“You’d better not cry; you’d better not pout.”<br />
<br />
You can’t lay out the Santa ruse without admitting that a lot of songs and stories have already been written, chronicling how the whole Santa gig works.<br />
<br />
And this song? This one tells kids they need to stuff their emotions, because Santa is watching.<br />
<br />
If my kids are having big feelings, I’m much more interested in learning what is causing them than having kids stuff their feelings for the sake of the creepy old guy who is spying on them.<br />
<br />
I mean, let them worry about Google snooping, and their tablets tracking their location, and Amazon feeding them ads based upon their browsing history. Those are REAL things to be worried about.<br />
<br />
Am I right?<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<b><i>5. I DON’T NEED TO LEVERAGE GIFT-RECEIVING TO ENFORCE BEHAVIOR EXPECTATIONS.</i></b><br />
<br />
I give my children gifts because I love them. It’s not conditional upon them being “nice” instead of “naughty.”<br />
<br />
Love isn’t conditional. I don’t only love them when they’re being “good.” I love them because they’re my children.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>6. DISAPPOINTMENT SHOULD NOT BE PARALLEL TO BEING “NAUGHTY.”</i></b><br />
<br />
When kids believe that writing a letter to Santa and being “good” will score them whatever they’ve requested, it sets them up to think they just weren’t “good” enough when it doesn’t materialize.<br />
<br />
That year when we were losing our house? That year? No amount of “goodness” would have made an Xbox materialize on Christmas morning, and it had nothing to do with behavior. It was all about finances.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>7. SANTA PLAYS FAVORITES, AND IT’S ALL ABOUT SOCIOECONOMIC PRIVILEGE.</i></b><br />
<br />
How do we explain — if Santa brings toys to “all the good girls and boys” — that children who don’t get gifts from Santa are still good?<br />
<br />
How do we explain that Jimmy, who got gum and an orange from Santa, is just as “good” and worthy as Joey, who got a new iPad from Santa?<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><i>So... there it is. Seven of the reasons why we don't do Santa at our house.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>What do you do at your house? Are you about Santa, or nah? Why, or why not?</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-77290604652414463132018-09-11T08:34:00.002-07:002018-09-11T08:34:00.134-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Christopher Zarba<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.legacy.com/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonId=91876" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
<br />
Christopher R. Zarba, Jr. was born with music in his blood. The 47-year old from Hopkinton, Massachussetts was the son of a composer/piano teacher, the nephew of a talented vocalist, and grew to be an accomplished pianist and French horn player who played with local symphonies when he was free from his work as a software engineer.<br />
<br />
A man who never stopped learning, Christopher <a href="http://www.legacy.com/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonId=91876" target="NEW">spoke fluent German and Italian, painted, gardened, and considered algebra and calculus books "pleasure" reading</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLLGFGHp-KECDH6yfeX_p5Hnymd2amz_it4NpXuLqjr3gGunCBsde5ETg7FO4yScpi-2IEw8UOtsicmRm6Chft7Y6UxG5zRh68s1XMwCiktNonLvyh1CveNc6bjXEldM8PmCrtvlP66k/s1600/christopher+zarba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLLGFGHp-KECDH6yfeX_p5Hnymd2amz_it4NpXuLqjr3gGunCBsde5ETg7FO4yScpi-2IEw8UOtsicmRm6Chft7Y6UxG5zRh68s1XMwCiktNonLvyh1CveNc6bjXEldM8PmCrtvlP66k/s320/christopher+zarba.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://holliston-hopkinton.patch.com/groups/around-town/p/out-of-tragedy-new-hope" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
His wife, Sheila -- also a horn player -- and son, also named Christopher, were a source of joy for Zarba. I watched <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdNVoXrpSGg" target="NEW">this</a> compilation of home videos, edited by Sheila, with a smile and tears. The love Christopher shows for his family shines through. You'll see him smiling, playing with his son, and being a bit of a goofball at times. For some reason, I noticed a Band-Aid on his thumb in one of the videos, and it made him even more real to me.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/sdNVoXrpSGg" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Early the morning of September 11, 2001, Christopher <a href="http://holliston-hopkinton.patch.com/groups/around-town/p/out-of-tragedy-new-hope" target="NEW">boarded American Airlines Flight 11 for a rare business trip in California</a>. At 8:46am EST, the plane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.<br />
<br />
I'm honored to remember Christopher in life -- that husband, father, son, brother and friend who made silly faces in the mirror, occasionally injured a thumb, created beauty in his life through music, painting and gardening, and never stopped learning about the world around him. <br />
<br />
Thank you, Christopher, for the life you lived, and for reminding all of us to truly LIVE.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span> <br />
<br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-37493750012118056502018-09-11T08:34:00.001-07:002018-09-11T08:43:02.281-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Renee Newell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/hartfordcourant/obituary.aspx?n=renee-newell-tetreault&pid=93305#fbLoggedOut" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
Have you ever had excellent customer service? The kind that brightens your day, and makes you grateful someone listens, and understands? That was the <a href="http://www.legacy.com/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=91854&location=3" target="NEW">type of service Renee Newell was known to provide for her clients</a>.<br />
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In our busy world, we often have little time to connect with cherished friends. For Renee Newell, 37, of Cranston, Rhode Island, a seminar in Las Vegas was the perfect opportunity to indulge in a girls' "getaway" with her friend, Carol Bouchard, of nearby Warwick, Rhode Island. A customer service agent with American Airlines, Renee booked a flight to Los Angeles, then on to Las Vegas, and secured a companion ticket for Carol. The women planned to <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/chi-0109130370sep13,0,2205666.story?page=8" target="NEW">stay over an extra day to see the sights of Las Vegas, hit the clubs, and tour the Strip</a>.<br />
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At 8:46am EST, their plane -- American Airlines Flight 11 -- crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.<br />
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Renee is<a href="http://www.cranstononline.com/stories/Renees-mom-still-hopes,33660?" target="_blank"> described by those close to her </a>as having "...a sense of humor; an eagerness to laugh." She was "a great person and a great mom," and "always had a smile at work."<br />
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Renee seemed to have a natural gift for brightening the lives of others, and perhaps that is why she followed a career path of service -- including helping out at her family's restaurant, bartending, and her work for American Airlines. She touched people's lives in a way that made a difference, so much so that <a href="http://www.legacy.com/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=91854&location=3" target="NEW">customers came in from out of state to honor and remember her life at her wake</a>.<br />
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A loving daughter to Lillian and Raymond Tetreault, Renee not only helped out at her family restaurant, but also helped when her father moved into a nursing home, and was a tireless and doting mother to her son, Matthew. She was the loving wife of Paul, and sister to Michelle, James, Robert and Steven, and a special family member or friend to so many more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DSh-zYy9oA614pOUjodkud9kJJOKLibt7tRNFD4n_A2_0vJXtkLqX6nyEhtqREB840d8PyzhQZqt09EoqtLOaQ6HieNf7pHmkb1JO5v1wRRUl9UYzOzjxvHfpSTLCcwIh3snW74S49s/s1600/renee+newell+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DSh-zYy9oA614pOUjodkud9kJJOKLibt7tRNFD4n_A2_0vJXtkLqX6nyEhtqREB840d8PyzhQZqt09EoqtLOaQ6HieNf7pHmkb1JO5v1wRRUl9UYzOzjxvHfpSTLCcwIh3snW74S49s/s1600/renee+newell+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.legacy.com/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=91854&location=3" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
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It is an honor to remember Renee Newell today. Her story inspires me to work hard to put a smile onto the faces of my clients, to love deeply, to live boldly, and to laugh as often as possible.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span> <br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-28078650280204380552018-09-11T08:34:00.000-07:002018-09-11T08:33:12.195-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Christian Adams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOP8W3wIMZ3y1nFMLSHqFSGC2tf6n38JngLZBucuZobWVmZ08QfmmA3He_-DmuXf6qWZHPBTo8l7FVr6t8dMkeVdl9bnMsQ_ZFGqLpwCIdx1YLanm9rH6V4TY0miDu2XGxlrTYMPOQ-Nw/s1600/ChristianAdams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOP8W3wIMZ3y1nFMLSHqFSGC2tf6n38JngLZBucuZobWVmZ08QfmmA3He_-DmuXf6qWZHPBTo8l7FVr6t8dMkeVdl9bnMsQ_ZFGqLpwCIdx1YLanm9rH6V4TY0miDu2XGxlrTYMPOQ-Nw/s320/ChristianAdams.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/headlines/20011028flt93adamsbiop8.asp">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2011.</i><br />
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Christian Adams, 37, was a resident of Biebelsheim, Germany and a well-known authority in the wine industry. Christian served as the deputy director of the German Wine Institute and director of its export department. He was father to Lukas, 7 in 2001, and Theresa, 5 in 2001, and husband to Silke. <br />
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Colleagues described Christian as quiet and thoughtful; a man who thought no job was beneath him. He'd worked his way up in the wine industry, and he was known for doing whatever job needed to be done, without hesitation - whether it was hefting cases of wine or uncorking bottles. Carol Sullivan, friend and colleague, said, <a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/headlines/20011028flt93adamsbiop8.asp">"One of the things that impressed us most was his depth of knowledge."</a><br />
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Indeed, Christian was revered as an authority on wine, and he'd worked hard to gain his knowledge, obtaining a degree in winemaking and grape-growing from a German university and going on to earn a degree in marketing at University of California, Davis. It was at a German Wine Society convention in Los Angeles that Sullivan, director of the German Wine Information Bureau in New York, met Christian in 1989. Wine Institute officials were so impressed with him, they asked him to help with a symposium on Riesling grapes later that year. He met the director of the Institute at that event, who hired Christian to work in the export division. Christian worked his way up to deputy director in 1995.<br />
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Dedicated to keeping fit, Christian enjoyed playing and watching volleyball and basketball and - while known for his quiet demeanor - he enjoyed a good laugh or joke with friends.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMY9YIbUiCmUstWWzJjVxyO8lHqMTjsRt9x-CiwMdJ5LjY8BPxLKwp8Wi0vmqFmSs2zD2zKnN0W5H1AshNObZF6nDHBCAw9ZTmWuc5ZUnKSaaNchypcCr4QDs2mJzM7CLlr5coqeAZws/s1600/ChristianAdams2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMY9YIbUiCmUstWWzJjVxyO8lHqMTjsRt9x-CiwMdJ5LjY8BPxLKwp8Wi0vmqFmSs2zD2zKnN0W5H1AshNObZF6nDHBCAw9ZTmWuc5ZUnKSaaNchypcCr4QDs2mJzM7CLlr5coqeAZws/s1600/ChristianAdams2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.unitedheroes.com/Christian-Adams.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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Christian also ran a winery owned by his wife's family, and September was a busy time for winemaking. Still, <a href="http://www.legacy.com/Sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=91565">the calendar of holidays allowed him to break away</a> from his obligations to attend two wine events in the United States in 2001 - one in New York, which ended September 10, and the other in San Francisco, scheduled to begin on the 13th. It was the second event Christian was headed for when he boarded United Flight 93 on September 11, 2001.<br />
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Flight 93 was hijacked by terrorists and crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania after an attempt by crew and passengers to reclaim control of the plane.<br />
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Today, I'm asking you join me in remembering the quiet, motivated young husband and father who was Christian Adams. Please say a prayer for his family and loved ones. Christian, you are not forgotten.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-9537460920991628722018-09-11T08:33:00.001-07:002018-09-11T08:32:50.294-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Christoffer Carstanjen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wIbAfcO3N0nQIhQF3cEIpqZZUeydB4jIWy-zoRLrA3wosqjBoNrd7IKzu43DcSPRUwPcjs_3K-ay2Q777y0CwWl-uBcpAl_BlDlZfRpW0uA4C_2g11PeXPhlFkhSmT7igLmV2Pl1LBg/s1600/ChristofferCarstanjen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wIbAfcO3N0nQIhQF3cEIpqZZUeydB4jIWy-zoRLrA3wosqjBoNrd7IKzu43DcSPRUwPcjs_3K-ay2Q777y0CwWl-uBcpAl_BlDlZfRpW0uA4C_2g11PeXPhlFkhSmT7igLmV2Pl1LBg/s1600/ChristofferCarstanjen.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.umass.edu/chronicle/archives/01/09-14/carstanjen.html" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
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Christoffer Carstanjen boarded United Flight 175 intending to take a vacation, headed for San Diego, where he was scheduled to attend a motorcycle rally. He was 33 years old on September 11, 2001, a <a href="http://www.americanmemorials.com/memorial/deathnotice_private.asp?idMemorial=1528" target="NEW">culinary chef and carpenter who built his own home</a>.<br />
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A dancer from a young age, Christoffer was <a href="http://www.cdss.org/special-funds.html" target="NEW">a member of the Country Dance and Song Society and the Marlboro Morris Men dancers</a>, where team members nicknamed him "Mr. Wonderful." As one fellow dancer put it, <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbooks/guestbook.aspx?n=christoffer-carstanjen&pid=91682" target="NEW">"I looked forward to dancing with Chris because I knew he'd keep me laughing the whole time, and he'd swing so fast I felt like I would fly away."</a><br />
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Christoffer appears to have truly lived life, throwing himself into his passions, and making far-reaching goals for the future, <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2001/09/18/web-usat.htm" target="NEW">including building a boat and learning to sail it, and establishing a live-in college for senior citizens</a>. <br />
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A resident of Turner Falls, Massachusetts, and a computer research specialist for the University of Massachusetts Amherst, Christoffer was part of an internet motorcycle forum, where he earned the nickname "Captain Tupperware," a reference to the brightly-colored Honda motorbike he loved. <br />
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When researching Christoffer's life, I <a href="http://pjbt.home.comcast.net/~pjbt/christoffercarstanjen.htm" target="_blank">found this quote</a>, taken from his website, which I think truly defines his outlook on life:<br />
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<blockquote>
<i>Best of all.....</i><br />
<i>Keep healthy, wealthy and wise. Your job is important, but don't live for just your job! Keep active and an open mind. Practice random acts of kindness. Compliment someone each day. Listen to all sides of a story before making a decision. Don't be afraid to admitting on being wrong. Learn the meaning of Life. Try, please try, to live within your means. Don't worry about saving money for your kids' college costs, it means lots more if they pay their own way. Save at least 15% of what you make for retirement. Try to meet someone new everyday. Ann Landers really means well. Plan for the future. Listen and surround yourself with positive people and speakers. Don't let the turkeys get you down. Write when you get work. :-)</i><br />
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</i> <i>Take care,</i><br />
<i>Christoffer</i></blockquote>
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We should all be so lucky to know who we are, and what we want out of life. Ride on, Christoffer. You are remembered, today and always.<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: blue;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="NEW">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="NEW">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-58492694642638079242018-09-11T08:33:00.000-07:002018-09-11T08:32:23.986-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Samantha Lightbourn-Allen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmSozRRb9vaHTDUIfj070woRq8K5pzE9S92lW6mpFBM17Yf1jC5CfqOKAQVSKN_JDBwJXV6fmwz18G1DQwBIQ_Ar8wkX8r0KYFBuOXeak5VvEU8VUwyhtQahzsml0EcDDI5_gRR66SKk/s1600/lightbourn-allen-s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmSozRRb9vaHTDUIfj070woRq8K5pzE9S92lW6mpFBM17Yf1jC5CfqOKAQVSKN_JDBwJXV6fmwz18G1DQwBIQ_Ar8wkX8r0KYFBuOXeak5VvEU8VUwyhtQahzsml0EcDDI5_gRR66SKk/s1600/lightbourn-allen-s.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pentagonmemorial.org/explore/biographies/samantha-l-lightbourn-allen" target="_blank">Image source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
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Samantha Lightbourn-Allen, 36, was a <a href="http://pentagonmemorial.org/explore/biographies/samantha-l-lightbourn-allen" target="NEW">Budget Analyst for the Department of the Army at the Pentagon on September 11, 2001</a>. A devoted mother to John, Jr. (born in June 1985) and Samantha Brittnie (born on Christmas Day, 1988), she'd returned to work just four days earlier following a business trip and combined family vacation to Miami, Key West, and Disney World.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEnoTvQFtg1nlnPcBNsBr1uLx1dmgiNSDBuhWy6nRh37GVrb7rUx-fHYWwU_bEGK-SlCMKq4O28BebiLLNO3lwBU_esyQdnmfzDC5uRsUkuEMe2QoAET-Pt2fNnIqW-nXAhTuBqTSe-k/s1600/SamanthaBrittnie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEnoTvQFtg1nlnPcBNsBr1uLx1dmgiNSDBuhWy6nRh37GVrb7rUx-fHYWwU_bEGK-SlCMKq4O28BebiLLNO3lwBU_esyQdnmfzDC5uRsUkuEMe2QoAET-Pt2fNnIqW-nXAhTuBqTSe-k/s320/SamanthaBrittnie.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha and her daughter. <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbooks/washingtonpost/guestbook.aspx?n=samantha-lightbourn-allen&pid=111753&eid=0&eid=0" target="_blank">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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A devout Christian, Samantha sang in her church choir, supported her children's activities such as Girl Scouts, and looked forward to retiring from the government, as her father had done.<br />
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Samantha graduated from high school in 1982 in the top five percent of her class, and went on to major in Business Administration at Prince George's Community College.<br />
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From childhood, Samantha loved Disney World and amusement parks, and was described as full of life and telling jokes. Her twin sister, Rennea, nicknamed her "Sennea."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcK2DetQ1LSOQFc0BNgGZecIvu0rnmZeLXaV_xjOHO-pqNhT_5ZltjzdjFKTjGs2hY93De26bxoyxZW_au9U_uVADtshzAWGvoO7l6FNUgwWaf1vE8pgHd9gAuEZy62ymva5AljKFZIg/s1600/SamanthaRennea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcK2DetQ1LSOQFc0BNgGZecIvu0rnmZeLXaV_xjOHO-pqNhT_5ZltjzdjFKTjGs2hY93De26bxoyxZW_au9U_uVADtshzAWGvoO7l6FNUgwWaf1vE8pgHd9gAuEZy62ymva5AljKFZIg/s320/SamanthaRennea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha (front) and her twin sister, <br />
Rennea, at 7 months of age. <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbooks/washingtonpost/guestbook.aspx?n=samantha-lightbourn-allen&pid=111753&eid=0&eid=0" target="_blank">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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Family members describe Samantha as carefree; not prone to worry. "She just felt when it was your time, it was your time and worrying about it wouldn't change things anyway," her mother, <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/metro/specials/attacked/victims/v_412.html" target="NEW">Rebecca Lightbourn said.</a><br />
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I remember Samantha Lightbourn-Allen, and pray for peace for her loved ones.<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: blue;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="NEW">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="NEW">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-27952790784480348822018-09-11T08:32:00.002-07:002018-09-11T08:32:01.335-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Shannon Lewis Adams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-cbYK2t24Kal-DDTibCBdLQ-BXQZkJdlSF4mI_SbLdfINIBVv3tIrtNminIhx0py_xZZkNeVqVEak6d8-jc98zJ8DSKVbcxq_LRLoyFZF8xZ_XsDBo-8mULv8aD0WuwajGF_hS42xwU/s1600/ShannonLewisAdams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-cbYK2t24Kal-DDTibCBdLQ-BXQZkJdlSF4mI_SbLdfINIBVv3tIrtNminIhx0py_xZZkNeVqVEak6d8-jc98zJ8DSKVbcxq_LRLoyFZF8xZ_XsDBo-8mULv8aD0WuwajGF_hS42xwU/s1600/ShannonLewisAdams.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbooks/guestbook.aspx?n=shannon-adams&pid=107468" target="_blank">Legacy.com</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
<br />
Much like myself, Shannon Lewis Adams, 25, grew up in a small town (Star Lake, New York). Like mine, Shannon's graduating class was less than three dozen students. He had a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2002/01/29/national/portraits/POG-29ADAMS.html" target="NEW">longstanding dream to leave his small hometown</a>, in search of something bigger.<br />
<br />
That dream landed him on the 101st floor of Tower One in the World Trade Center, as a fixed-income account at Cantor Fitzgerald. His mother, Gwyn Adams, reported he was so proud of his new career in the big city, having come from a town without a single stoplight. He set up a bachelor pad with friends in Astoria, complete with a huge fish tank, a big-screen television and a wall full of music.<br />
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According to his father, Lew Adams, "He was going 100 miles an hour all the time, it seems like. The city seemed to satisfy that a lot better than the northern Adirondacks."<br />
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<a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2001/memorial/people/3877.html" target="NEW">Classmate Seth Adam Stuart described Shannon</a> as "...pure fun," a living life to the fullest, and trying to make everyone around him happy with his wide grin.<br />
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Perhaps, because I come from a tiny town with no stoplights, and graduated with a class of 24 students, I imagine the pride and feeling of success Shannon must have experienced when he arrived in New York City. I am glad he was able to reach for that dream, and saddened that his success was cut short. I hope, as <a href="http://www.wwnytv.com/news/local/Remembering-911--Shannon-Adams-129317563.html" target="NEW">Shannon's best friend, Brad Siskavich, suggests,</a> family and friends are able to "...remember the positives as opposed to the fact that he's just not here anymore."<br />
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I know, for me, I picture Shannon's compassion and hard work. I imagine him playing hockey with friends. I envision how he made people smile, just by sharing his life and his heart.<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: blue;">This tribute is part of <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="NEW">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="NEW">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-54443308247859297162018-09-11T08:32:00.001-07:002018-09-11T08:31:39.637-07:00Project 2,996: Remember CeeCee Lyles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EAc052C1KCPKzrhseIat9omkZsXu6rReySjFGN1sQfJlVMaVOE2DcQmYa-Y8Jv4S8diPsypZqZ9pm7q2BnJR8PXBJdK9H1rQ_W13nQmMi2yfhUYQRV8Xhe27aLnRQGvVUyVOOBsH1uI/s1600/CeeCee+Lyles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EAc052C1KCPKzrhseIat9omkZsXu6rReySjFGN1sQfJlVMaVOE2DcQmYa-Y8Jv4S8diPsypZqZ9pm7q2BnJR8PXBJdK9H1rQ_W13nQmMi2yfhUYQRV8Xhe27aLnRQGvVUyVOOBsH1uI/s320/CeeCee+Lyles.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/headlines/20011028flt93lylesbiop8.asp">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2011.</i><br />
<br />
To be honest, I chose the name CeeCee Lyles because our family nickname for Snugglebug is "SeeSee." I was initially compelled to write Mrs. Lyles's story simply because of her name, but what I found in my research was the story of a mother, a wife, and a hero.<br />
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CeeCee was a 33-year-old resident of Fort Myers, Florida who'd fulfilled a lifelong dream in becoming a flight attendant after years of police work that took her from patrol officer to detective. In her law enforcement work, she was respected for<a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/headlines/20011028flt93lylesbiop8.asp"> "for her willingness to tackle fleeing criminals."</a> A single mother, CeeCee provided for her two sons by working multiple jobs while still finding time to volunteer for a Christian women's shelter. In 1997, she began a relationship with police dispatcher Lorne Lyles, and the two married in 2000. It was the second marriage for both of them, and Lorne brought his own two sons to the family, making CeeCee and Lorne the proud parents of four.<br />
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People described CeeCee as an easygoing woman who loved to talk and enjoyed people. She was thoughtful, kind and caring. How natural that when United Flight 93 was overtaken by hijackers, she'd reach out to her family. CeeCee's cell phone call to her husband reveals her professional training. She is calm, explaining the situation. Still, toward the end, the heart of a wife and mother comes through clearly - her words are tinged with emotion and love.<br />
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At 10:03:11, Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after an attempt by passengers and crew to reclaim the plane. It has been presumed that the intended target of the hijacked plane was the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. Shortly before the crash, CeeCee called her husband again, telling him that passengers were preparing to force their way into the cockpit. <br />
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It is unclear whether the brave passengers and crew were successful in breaching the cockpit, but it has been established that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_Airlines_Flight_93">the hijackers knew of their efforts and heard the heroes coming</a>.<br />
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I imagine CeeCee Lyles passed on to heaven as she lived - taking care of others, calming and soothing them while remaining vigilant and seeing that an attempt at rescue was made.<br />
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Four sons, a loving husband and many co-workers, family members and friends were left behind to miss and remember CeeCee. I hope you'll remember not only this beautiful, brave woman, but her loved ones, as well, in your prayers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0r17Nq5iGDk4q8psOgUgXBoODXIJpVUWvuslKrR2pug_xqo2EKWFt72aUhO4gHpXyoKptRb7JnMeuBiclzB3f4QgqcOkwR0gST7V2-JwZGQRE5h1UgIDJaxKLaN5sUAHz2hMNSl6tPg/s1600/ceecee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0r17Nq5iGDk4q8psOgUgXBoODXIJpVUWvuslKrR2pug_xqo2EKWFt72aUhO4gHpXyoKptRb7JnMeuBiclzB3f4QgqcOkwR0gST7V2-JwZGQRE5h1UgIDJaxKLaN5sUAHz2hMNSl6tPg/s1600/ceecee.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.afacwa.org/memoriam/Flight%20Attendant%20Heroes/ceecee_lyles.htm">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<br />
Thank you, CeeCee, for your service and sacrifice. You are not forgotten.<br />
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<br />
<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-79297274820223970722018-09-11T08:32:00.000-07:002018-09-11T08:31:07.392-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Krystine C. Bordenabe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NjLTlJdNAH3PacJ3V5dRUMd5dCxZTJjF87y1LG96q5etzAp50Ly8QtKndm0ZtljYwcx7yuuH277g-BD3wgeo4yc7HJu0XDmYZjS4pWH8zg9VCPLgfgZ9FZOpPKwOVPxC7B8IxX2xXAc/s1600/Krystine+Bordenabe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NjLTlJdNAH3PacJ3V5dRUMd5dCxZTJjF87y1LG96q5etzAp50Ly8QtKndm0ZtljYwcx7yuuH277g-BD3wgeo4yc7HJu0XDmYZjS4pWH8zg9VCPLgfgZ9FZOpPKwOVPxC7B8IxX2xXAc/s1600/Krystine+Bordenabe.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2001/memorial/people/2506.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2011.</i><br />
<br />
On September 11, 2001, Krystine C. Bordenabe was a 33-year-old resident of Old Bridge, New Jersey, working in the south tower of the World Trade Center, and - at eight months pregnant - was looking forward to leaving her job after maternity leave to become a full-time mother to her new baby and then-13-year-old son named Andrew.<br />
<br />
Krystine and her husband, Alfredo, had been married just over a year, and were excitedly awaiting the arrival of their first child together. Prior to their marriage, Krystine had been a devoted single mother to Andrew, and was counting down the weeks until she'd resign from her job as a sales assistant at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods to stay at home with her children.<br />
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Alfredo and Krystine dated a few times during high school, but lost touch afterward. Then, years later, Krystine attended a men's soccer game, at which Alfredo was playing. The two renewed their friendship, and married in 2000. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1uG729h4Klqa484nvy8-pA3bQIe742K9m7UxUnfxcqTgbG09rXQvbRSev7lsr2TBNQGo517qU1hHBRtZZUqiesDSFwSkNA7PFtYnPv4DUovahhtRsp05aluhp3eljNUByYsNCJ2Y28/s1600/Krystine+Bordenabe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1uG729h4Klqa484nvy8-pA3bQIe742K9m7UxUnfxcqTgbG09rXQvbRSev7lsr2TBNQGo517qU1hHBRtZZUqiesDSFwSkNA7PFtYnPv4DUovahhtRsp05aluhp3eljNUByYsNCJ2Y28/s1600/Krystine+Bordenabe2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://blog.nj.com/lives_remembered/2011/08/devoted_mom_was_awaiting_anoth.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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Krystine attended Chubb Institute in Jersey City, graduating as valedictorian. She loved helping others, being a mother, baking, cooking, and the occasional indulgence in a pair of stylish shoes.<br />
<br />
A doting husband who looked after his wife with love and concern, Alfredo called his wife as he traveled to work the morning of September 11, 2001. He'd heard on the radio that a plane had crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. Krystine assured him she was safe in the south tower, and that workers were being told to stay in the building. <br />
<br />
Minutes later, a second plane - United Flight 175 - smashed into the south tower.<br />
<br />
In a moment, Alfredo lost both his beloved wife and their unborn baby, and Andrew lost his mother and sibling. Please, remember Alfredo and Andrew in your prayers, as well as those who loved and cared for Krystine, and the child she carried with her to heaven.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
<br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-50679370593319746422018-09-11T08:31:00.001-07:002018-09-11T08:30:48.257-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Norma Lang Steuerle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U6jWQauotoWNkCl508dgJSokk027D3UL9UHC08Z4Eefdzo4DhFKsEvhpMuyoQHIIaRky8HbbOj_MsXELfSBzHec1Y-gFuE_yg9-XsfPk5KfVN4I1hg26Ut6_LUq0UAdxRYA6-P6OFr4/s1600/Norma+Lang+Steuerle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U6jWQauotoWNkCl508dgJSokk027D3UL9UHC08Z4Eefdzo4DhFKsEvhpMuyoQHIIaRky8HbbOj_MsXELfSBzHec1Y-gFuE_yg9-XsfPk5KfVN4I1hg26Ut6_LUq0UAdxRYA6-P6OFr4/s1600/Norma+Lang+Steuerle.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pentagonmemorial.org/explore/biographies/norma-lang-steuerle">Photo source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2014.</i><br />
<br />
Norma Lang Steuerle, of Alexandria, Virgina, drove her convertible with the top down, relished a day at the beach, and loved reading and travel. She lived with an energy and zest that others admired.<br />
<br />
Norma was 54 years old on September 11, 2001. A clinical psychologist working with women and children suffering with depression and ADHD, she was described as <a href="http://www.apa.org/monitor/nov01/gifted.aspx">"a particularly gifted therapist"</a> who deeply connected with her clients, putting them at ease and providing undivided attention.<br />
<br />
While she was singularly-focused in her profession, friends and family describe her as constantly busy, doing everything with enthusiasm and purpose, whether she was volunteering for causes she believed in, dedicating time and talent to Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church, or attending sporting events when her daughters - Lynne and Kristin - were in school.<br />
<br />
She attended Dayton University, then graduated at the top of her class from Carnegie Mellon University with a degree in psychology. She received a master's degree from Temple University, and her PhD. in social psychology from University of Wisconsin Madison in 1975. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://people.virginia.edu/~rjc7c/norma/Norma-Booklet.pdf">According to friends</a>, Norma met her husband, Gene, while attending Dayton. The two dated for a while, but Norma broke off the relationship, "left Dayton to be closer to another guy, and to attend Carnegie-Mellon." Apparently, after realizing the error of her ways - and giving full credit for Gene's persistence - the two were married after he returned from Vietnam in 1970.<br />
<br />
The couple's first daughter, Kristin, was born in 1973, and their second, Lynne, followed in 1977. <br />
<br />
Norma's family brought her great joy and pride, and she was excited to board American Airlines Flight 77, which would take her through the first leg of a trip during which she planned to meet up with her daughter, Kristin, a Navy doctor in Okinawa. She'd then connect with Gene, who was traveling in Japan on business. Together, the three planned to visit Thailand, where the couple would celebrate their 31st wedding anniversary.<br />
<br />
Flight 77 was hijacked and, at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001, crashed into the Pentagon.<br />
<br />
Please pray for Norma's family and friends, who lost a vibrant part of their lives on that tragic day.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-67534716565608519982018-09-11T08:31:00.000-07:002018-09-11T08:30:26.245-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Pendyala "Vamsi" Vamsikrishna and Prasanna Kalahasthi - a Victim of Grief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlrugZdQMFNC-ciP4Wk3i7vvJjvuV0jx4UKcqnGkS5UqC1bs0rkf9v_XX9sS4NbrCDn7nYROAByKw1WgezjB4kNCEZU7d8eLUjAAMDFstwsGj0boc17nGx53G63NOkudNlHpd_h4_hM4/s1600/Pendyala+Vamsikrishna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlrugZdQMFNC-ciP4Wk3i7vvJjvuV0jx4UKcqnGkS5UqC1bs0rkf9v_XX9sS4NbrCDn7nYROAByKw1WgezjB4kNCEZU7d8eLUjAAMDFstwsGj0boc17nGx53G63NOkudNlHpd_h4_hM4/s1600/Pendyala+Vamsikrishna.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2001/memorial/people/1400.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2011.</i><br />
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Pendyala Vamsikrishna, "Vamsi" to friends, was 30 years old on September 11, 2001. A project manager for the consulting firm of DTI, he was a talented software developer. <br />
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Vamsi and his wife, Prasanna Kalahasthi, like most young couples, had dreams and plans for their future. Both from India, they'd moved to the United States to pursue education and career opportunities - Vamsi to study engineering, and Prasanna to attend USC as a grad student in the International Student Program for Foreign-Trained Dentists. Brought together by an arranged marriage, the two were lucky enough to truly find love and devotion in one another, and had been married two and a half years in September 2001. They'd planned to start a family, had received their green cards, and dove into their pursuits in the U.S. <br />
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A devoted employee known for his strong work ethic, Vamsi had been in Boston for business and ended up staying an extra day, missing his original flight. On Tuesday, September 11, he left a voicemail for Prasanna, telling her he'd be home to Los Angeles soon: <br />
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<i><a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/2006/sep/14spec1.htm">Hi, sweetie, I've just boarded the flight, and I'll see you in Los Angeles this afternoon.</a></i> <br />
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Vasmi never made it. His plane, American Airlines Flight 11, was the first to strike the World Trade Center, crashing into the north tower at 08:46:26.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsgjpl-RNOIzk7bNNloAq51VBy6w2Vm_JW4DBHpkhtX3JbWlST7RnIQiKmbVgfl-B0FWVX0Rx-gvJF07tzJkI4mbVlGQxFXEWbyuaWXuYQnxw16hIG0Ftw-xXIbjk4m_OjAFuln4eIY4Y/s1600/Prasanna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsgjpl-RNOIzk7bNNloAq51VBy6w2Vm_JW4DBHpkhtX3JbWlST7RnIQiKmbVgfl-B0FWVX0Rx-gvJF07tzJkI4mbVlGQxFXEWbyuaWXuYQnxw16hIG0Ftw-xXIbjk4m_OjAFuln4eIY4Y/s1600/Prasanna.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/2006/sep/14spec1.htm">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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On October 19, 2001, Prasanna took her own life, leaving behind notes and an audio recording for her family, stating she just couldn't go on without her husband.<br />
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<i><a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2002/sep/15/local/me-lopez15">All I want is for you people to understand and respect me for what I'm doing. It's a lot, I know... But I'm responding to this in the only way I can bring peace to myself.</a></i><br />
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I chose Vasmi's name blindly from a list. Within minutes, I knew I had to include his young wife - and the tragic end to both beautiful, promising lives - in this tribute. Please, pray for the families and friends of Vasmi and Prasanna. Years may have passed, but this loving couple must not be forgotten.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-54634747523670456342018-09-11T08:30:00.009-07:002018-09-11T08:29:34.282-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Paige Farley-Hackel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://myfriendsphotos.tripod.com/aa11.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 2011.</i><br />
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Paige Farley-Hackel of Newton, Massachusetts was a motivational speaker and writer, on the verge of her dreams. Her new radio program, "Spiritually Speaking," was preparing to hit the air, and she had lofty goals of appearing on the Oprah Winfrey Show - or of becoming Oprah's competition. She had a Master's degree in substance abuse counseling, and was a tireless advocate for the Salvation Army. <br />
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In keeping with her passion for spiritual growth, 46-year-old Paige was headed to California for a conference at Deepak Chopra's Center for Well Being on September 11, 2001. She was traveling with her best friend, <a href="http://stevenwarran-backstage.blogspot.com/2009/10/ruth-magdaline-clifford-mccourt-tribute.html">Ruth Magdaline McCourt</a>, and McCourt's four-year-old daughter, <a href="http://friendsofproject2996.wordpress.com/2009/09/11/juliana-valentine-mccourt/">Juliana</a>. Together, they'd celebrate Paige's certification at the Center for completion of the Debbie Ford Shadow Process and take Juliana ("Miss J") to Disneyland. <br />
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The group ended up flying out of Boston on different airlines through the use of frequent flier miles - Paige on American Airlines Flight 11, and Ruth and Miss J on United Flight 175.<br />
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Flight 11 crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, followed by Flight 175's collision with the south tower, minutes later.<br />
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As <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2001/09/12/victims-friends.htm">USA Today noted</a>, "Ruth Clifford McCourt and Paige Farley Hackel were inseparable in life. Tuesday, in a fluke of airline ticketing, they became inseparable in death."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWo7ZJgyey9jxSJhSDzqtHgrB7bbg5mKdNyT-xvx4FDWWKatDn4aUBc873_zUgFtKPPwCOgjpIaf2RG6s7KrSErNe5TQ2KeKTLT5jGztqakN1NQfjBsssDNV7hBPz-vBxNXfWODdR3oEI/s1600/mccourt_juliana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWo7ZJgyey9jxSJhSDzqtHgrB7bbg5mKdNyT-xvx4FDWWKatDn4aUBc873_zUgFtKPPwCOgjpIaf2RG6s7KrSErNe5TQ2KeKTLT5jGztqakN1NQfjBsssDNV7hBPz-vBxNXfWODdR3oEI/s1600/mccourt_juliana.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paige Farley-Hackel with Juliana and Ruth McCourt<br />
<a href="http://myfriendsphotos.tripod.com/ua175.html">Photo source</a></td></tr>
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Family, friends, supporters and loved ones have not allowed Paige's untimely death to derail her passions. They've established the <a href="http://www.vpi.org/paigefarleyhackel/">Paige Farley Hackel Free Care Fund</a>, which provides addiction treatment at no cost to those most in need. In 2007, the <a href="http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/top_stories/x633534038/Spitz-Benefits-and-blues-for-9-11">Paige Farley Hackel Memorial Playground</a> was dedicated at the Salvation Army Children's Learning Center in Dorchester, Massachusetts.<br />
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In my research on Paige Farley-Hackel, one of the most profound and all-encompassing statements was what she wrote in her 1973 yearbook:<br />
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<i>There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.<br />
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Paige knew changing lives begins with changing oneself. She bettered herself to better the world. I am proud to remember Paige. Please say a prayer for her family and those she loved so dearly.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-18499517172666768762018-09-11T08:30:00.008-07:002018-09-11T08:29:16.440-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Shekhar Kumar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.</i><br />
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Shekhar Kumar was a 30 year-old programmer analyst at Cantor Fitzgerald in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. He'd been married in November 2000, and didn't have the opportunity to celebrate his first wedding anniversary.<br />
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A co-worker described Shekhar as <a href="http://www.moonbeam.net/sfhs/">"a gentle man with a great capacity for figuring our arcane problems, and who had a smile on his face and a way about him that when he asked you to move a mountain, you'd say, 'no problem.'"</a><br />
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On <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbook/cedarcreekpilot/guestbook.aspx?n=shekhar-kumar&pid=107971">Shekhar's Legacy.com page</a>, friends describe him as "a really great friend," "energetic, enthusiastic and optimistic."<br />
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Please say a prayer for Shekhar, his family, and the young widow left to grieve for him.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-15064919588129005532018-09-11T08:30:00.007-07:002018-09-11T08:28:57.764-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Andre G. Fletcher<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.</i><br />
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Andre G. Fletcher was a 37-year-old firefighter with Rescue 5, an emergency response unit with NYFD. Andre and his twin brother, Zack, also a firefighter, responded to the crisis on September 11, 2001. Andre was killed in the first tower collapse at the World Trade Center.<br />
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Zack described he and his brother as "type A-plus" personalities, thriving on action, adventure, danger and excitement. The brothers last spoke as Andre raced toward the burning towers. Zack told him he'd be there soon, to work alongside him, and not to do anything stupid - "Don't be a hero," he told his brother.<br />
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But Andre Fletcher <i>was</i> a hero, through and through. And he was a man of action. When he joined the fire department in 1994 and learned they didn't have a baseball team, he started one. He played on the department football team. I imagine him playing catch with his son, Blair, 12 years old in 2001.<br />
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I imagine, when Andre arrived on the scene at the World Trade Center, he never had a second thought about being a hero. It seemed to be what came naturally to him, and that, quite simply, is how I imagine him; a hero in death - and in life.<br />
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Say a prayer for Zack, who must certainly feel the loss of his twin each day. For Andre's parents, Lunsford and Monica, Jamaican immigrants who must be incredibly proud of their sons, but mourn the loss of one of the twins. For Blair, who lost a father at that all-important time of adolescence when a boy needs his father's guidance and patience. Say a prayer for the memory of Andre G. Fletcher, killed in the line of duty, doing what he lived for.<br />
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Never forget.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-47683876643777932522018-09-11T08:30:00.006-07:002018-09-11T08:28:35.344-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Matthew Gerard Leonard<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.</i><br />
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</i> <i>Please note: I was heartbreakingly unable to find a photo of Matthew Gerard Leonard. If any friends or family stop by to read this post, first, I hope you'll read in the following words my respect, care and admiration for such a wonderful man. Secondly, if you have a photo you wish to donate to this post, please contact me at mama@thegonzomama.com so I may add Mr. Leonard's image to this tribute.</i><br />
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Matthew Gerard Leonard was a 38-year-old lawyer working as director of litigation at Cantor Fitzgerald in the South Tower of the World Trade Center when tragedy struck on September 11, 2001. He was husband to Yolanda, brother to Helen, and father to Christina, seven months old at the time.<br />
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Matthew was a devout Catholic, steadfastly involved in his church. He was compassionate attorney, with an extensive history of pro bono work for those who could not afford legal help. A good singer, he sang Christmas carols in the hallways of his office and with the homeless on the streets of New York. <br />
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He was an early riser - always wanting to get started on work before the busyness of the day set in, and September 11, 2001 was no exception. He awakened, got ready for work, and headed out the door. His wife, Yolanda, looked at the clock as he left. It read 7:11 a.m.<br />
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How could Yolanda have known he wouldn't return that day? <br />
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People described Matthew as "kind," "a saint," "loving," "wonderful," and so much more. Remember Matthew Gerard Butler, a compassionate attorney, a loving husband, a doting father, a son, a brother, a friend. Let his memory, and the mark he made on the world, not be forgotten.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-19826899265493688982018-09-11T08:30:00.005-07:002018-09-11T08:28:09.342-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Kenneth Watson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.</i><br />
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Kenneth Watson was laid to rest on November 9, 2001 - almost two months after terrorists decimated the World Trade Center, where his body was finally found. He served as a firefighter with Engine Company 214.<br />
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Engine Company 214 responded to the devastation caused when the towers were struck. By mid-day, several members of the crew were missing. Kenneth was among them. The company's remaining men searched through the rubble and chaos with their bare hands - they had no tools.<br />
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In the days and weeks that followed, Engine 214 members continued to search for their fallen comrades, and became part of the bucket brigade, filling and passing buckets of debris from the wreckage along a line to be dumped into trucks, then hauled off to Staten Island.<br />
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By early October, there was still no sign or information about the fallen members of Engine Company 214. Then, the crew received word that a shield badge from a 214 helmet (belonging to Lieutenant Christopher Sullivan) had been found - but no body was recovered to go along with it.<br />
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October 31, the body of one of the company's men (Michael Roberts) was recovered, along with shields from two more 214 helmets (belonging to Carl Bedigian and <a href="http://moms4sarahpalin.blogspot.com/2009/09/remembering.html">John Florio</a>).<br />
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By this time, enough rubble had been cleared that recovery crews were finally able to get to where Engine 214's men had been - on the first floor near the elevator, waiting to go up to rescue people.<br />
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The surviving members of Engine 214 dug and tunneled and worked, moving the debris, concrete, blocks of marble and ash, until they recovered each of their fallen, the last being Kenneth Watson.<br />
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It is a long-held tradition that each company recovers their own men. It is a tradition of honor, of pride, of sacrifice, of brotherhood.<br />
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Each of the fallen heroes of Engine 214 deserve so much more than respect and honor. They deserve for their stories to be remembered and told again and again. <br />
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For Kenneth's story, I looked to the people who knew and loved him, and their comments on <a href="http://www.9-11heroes.us/v/Kenneth_Watson.php">his tribute page</a>.<br />
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Kenneth was a loving husband to Susan, and devoted father to his five children. Friends and family describe him as brave, generous, and heroic.<br />
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Attempts to find more, more details, more stories, more specifics about Kenneth's life fell short. It saddens me that somewhere, today, a wife and children grieve Kenneth's loss, and I can't share their story, can't tell how he met and married Susan, how he felt the first time he held each of his children, how he became so devoted to committing his life to serving others.<br />
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But, really, that's the enormity of it. 2,996 lives were lost on September 11, 2001. So, so many stories I'll never know, so many names I won't be able to remember, so many prayers left to say.<br />
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Never forget.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-33713027809725038192018-09-11T08:30:00.004-07:002018-09-11T08:27:42.725-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Deborah Merrick<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em>Mr. Wright originally wrote this tribute for Deborah on 9/11/09. He posted it on a blog we set up for our business, but never ended up using. Therefore, it gets relatively no traffic. I wanted to move Deborah's tribute here, where thousands can stumble upon it and say a prayer in her memory.</em><br />
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<em><strong>Deborah Merrick</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>45 years old</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Resident of New York</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Worked for the Port Authority</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Victim of World Trade Center Attack 9/11</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Appears to have passed away subsequent to 9/11</strong></em><br />
<br />
I looked and searched for details of your death. I looked and searched for details of your life. Unfortunately, not much was to be found.<br />
<br />
Forty-five years old is too young to die, but certainly there was time to live.<br />
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There must be a story there. There must be a story to tell.<br />
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I wonder: What if...?<br />
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What if your story is never told?<br />
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Then it occurs to me...<br />
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How many other stories never get told?<br />
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Deborah, I want to recognize you.<br />
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In the end, you are not a story. You are not a statistic. You are not a name. You are a person; you have a soul. You had a life and that life was cut short because of 9/11.<br />
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Deborah Merrick, we remember you by name. As we remember your death, we remember to celebrate life.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-5297700926217918132018-09-11T08:30:00.003-07:002018-09-11T08:27:00.282-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Joseph DiPilato<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This post was originally published on 9/11/09 on Citizen Gonzo. I've moved it here because I haven't blogged at Citizen Gonzo for a long, long time, and I get thousands more hits on this blog than on CG. I think Joseph deserves those thousands of views and more, don't you?</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBA0TaAlAaY6bPpq-nRh21Pxdq9FNxRDxIX2oHasbTliChSwREkzQZXU7jnT_UTD1fpozoHhUPf_htqhmxKv7_sJbxE1p6_uxd-q5FCpu8cDIluJBErmxjScfitS9uXiVwp70Lcyk7-hP/s1600-h/JosephDiPilato.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379273212218335586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBA0TaAlAaY6bPpq-nRh21Pxdq9FNxRDxIX2oHasbTliChSwREkzQZXU7jnT_UTD1fpozoHhUPf_htqhmxKv7_sJbxE1p6_uxd-q5FCpu8cDIluJBErmxjScfitS9uXiVwp70Lcyk7-hP/s400/JosephDiPilato.jpg" style="display: block; height: 142px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 110px;" /></a><br />
Electrician Joseph DiPilato, age 57, was working in Tower 2 of the World Trade Center when Tower 1 was struck on September 11, 2001. As he prepared to leave the building, he called his wife and childhood sweetheart, Maria, to tell her he was safe. He was last seen in an elevator, intending to evacuate.<br />
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Joseph was a romantic fellow who took his wife to dinner every Friday and held her hand as they spent summers strolling the boardwalk in Ocean City, Maryland. He took pride in maintaining his backyard, patio and swimming pool. He coached and managed his sons' Little League team. He was, above all else, a husband and father.<br />
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Neighbors like Mrs. Phyllis Buono grew to appreciate the blooms Joseph planted and look forward to the seeing the flowers he would select each season. "He set that yard up like it was a resort," Mrs. Buono said. "In the spring the flower pots would explode with blossoms." Phyllis's husband, Mike Buono, enjoyed working on cars with Joseph.<br />
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Maria and Joseph grew up together in Little Italy, where Joseph's childhood friends gave him the nickname "Joey Brillo," a nod to his short, wiry hair.<br />
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I didn't know Joseph DiPilato, but I am touched by the words of those who did:<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">"He would do anything for me. He cared about me and I always came first,"</span> said his wife, Maria.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">"We loved him more than anything and he's going to be missed by a lot of people," </span>said his son, Joseph. <span style="font-style: italic;">"He just meant everything to us."</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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"I remember Brillo as a kid, a year older than me. He was the best basketball player in Columbus Park on Mulberry Street. He gave me great pointers on getting the ball through the hoop. Everyone in the neighborhood loved Brillo. He was a great role model in a tough neighborhood. A natural athlete, terrific sense of humor and a decent human being. A guy like him is surely missed by many,"</span> said childhood friend Anthony Venturato<br />
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And this, dated August 19, 2008, from his daughter-in-law, Andrea:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
Dearest Dad,<br />
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It has been almost 7 years since you have been with us. We miss you tremendously. Something wonderful happened yesterday that I wanted to share. Your granddaughter Olivia typed in what she thought was her brothers name & brought up this website. As soon as she saw your picture she screamed with such excitement and said, "Mommy hurry come see Grandpa on the computer". It stopped me in my tracks & touched my heart more than you could ever know. All I could think about was how much you could not wait to be a grandfather. And little did we know on the last night that I was with you, I was already pregnant with your first grandchild. Leo & I would have given anything to be able to tell you in person you were going to finally be a Grandpa.<br />
<br />
Olivia talks about her "Grandpa in heaven" all the time. She wishes she could have known you. You would be so blown away by Olivia. She has such a huge heart just as you did.<br />
<br />
As Olivia & Joseph grow up they will know everything there is to know about their very special "Grandpa in heaven". We all miss you terribly!<br />
<br />
All our Love to you in Heaven, Leo, Andrea, Olivia & Joseph</span><br />
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Please light a candle for Joseph, his family and those who loved him. Say a prayer for the father, husband, neighbor and friend who lost his life on September 11, 2001.<br />
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Never forget.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-76675721945248959542018-09-11T08:30:00.002-07:002018-09-11T08:26:14.757-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Rahma Salie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #000099; font-style: italic;">This tribute is respectfully reposted from 9/11/09.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-style: italic;">Project 2,996 volunteer Asher Styrsky wrote the following tribute to Rahma Salie, wife of Michael Theodoridis, on Facebook. Since only Asher’s friends can see this wonderful tribute, Asher asked me to copy and post it here, where Rahma’s tribute c</span><span style="color: #000099; font-style: italic;">an be joined with <a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2009/09/project-2996-remember-michael.html" target="NEW">Michael’s</a>.<br />
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Here is Asher’s tribute to Rahma:</span><br />
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For several years now, I've participated in <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/" target="NEW">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. This year, my assignment failed to come thru via email, but fortunately I was contacted by another participant last minute who got me on track.<br />
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The name ... Rahma Salie.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXkwcl8iqfZUf2iKeXcYONSFwesszhFxEt3cydBrY-pkV_JdB_qSEhK3QVsl-Wna0zXIUiJh2loNP9Z9qoSSJsMhaInNGBw-Mb84ZHY_1uc42Cnr0LISRd78TZNuPWhR-DAj5X9NvDhU/s1600-h/rahma.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380264410291634946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXkwcl8iqfZUf2iKeXcYONSFwesszhFxEt3cydBrY-pkV_JdB_qSEhK3QVsl-Wna0zXIUiJh2loNP9Z9qoSSJsMhaInNGBw-Mb84ZHY_1uc42Cnr0LISRd78TZNuPWhR-DAj5X9NvDhU/s400/rahma.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 223px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 199px;" /></a><br />
Rahma was of Sri Lanken descent, and grew up in Japan. It seems she considered her Muslim faith to be a very important part of her life, for her husband Michael Theodoridis converted to Islam just before their marriage in 1998. Soon after, Rahma discovered she was pregnant. Seven months later, she and Michael left their home on the outskirts of Boston and boarded a plane headed to California where they intended to attend a wedding. Tragically, the lives of Rahma, Michael, and their unborn child were taken from them by radical jihadists in an event that would change history.<br />
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As I searched online for information on Rahma ... trying to learn as much as possible about her ... I discovered an online collection of <a href="http://www.voicesofsept11.org/dev/memorial_content.php?idbio=1274874455&idcontent=500076337" target="NEW">photos from her life, </a>including childhood gymnastics and pictures from her wedding. A beautiful human being ... (look on the right under 'Tribute' for more photos) Also, please note that a tribute has been put together for Rahma's husband, Michael <a href="http://www.thegonzomama.com/2009/09/project-2996-remember-michael.html" target="NEW">here</a>.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvsdKSgSlYDznRiTxjL7PdLh6id5hp1VMEwLS9MEZeOIkbWubOZrvQpk5Ue-8XXlPNYhRjnK6-PE3WS8veAJWAfnCkmLNqQWfc2SuzG1w2NuChVnHT4O2sT6dctSSsnxb_FkO1OtOCUI/s1600-h/michaelrahma.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380268252652391506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvsdKSgSlYDznRiTxjL7PdLh6id5hp1VMEwLS9MEZeOIkbWubOZrvQpk5Ue-8XXlPNYhRjnK6-PE3WS8veAJWAfnCkmLNqQWfc2SuzG1w2NuChVnHT4O2sT6dctSSsnxb_FkO1OtOCUI/s400/michaelrahma.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 236px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>Having never met her, I have no way to know first hand the type of woman that Rahma Salie was. And so I must rely on the words of those who knew her.<br />
<br />
Common words used to describe her ... effervescent, smiling, joy, and kind.<br />
<br />
"Rahma was a beautiful person, always smiling, always caring. I had the pleasure of working with Rahma only for a short time, but she made a distinct impression on my life.<br />
~ Pam Sheen, Kingston, Massachusetts"<br />
<br />
"Mmissing you rahma! and remembering you. i never got a chance to tell you just how much of a role model you were to me. thank you."<br />
<br />
"I met Rahma when I became a teacher at the International School of the Sacred Heart in Tokyo in 1990. I'll always remember how welcome she made me feel. She was so friendly and warm. The following year I was lucky enough to be her International Relations teacher. We had lots of laughs in class. I was so proud when she majored in International Relations. When Rahma was killed she was seven months pregnant. My wife was seven months pregnant too. Our daughter is now five and a half years old and my love for her sometimes is a reminder of how lucky I am, and how Rahma and Mickey were robbed of their happiness. My deepest condolences to their parents.<br />
~ Paul Doolan, Zürich"<br />
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May we never forget the lives that were taken so suddenly on September 11, 2001.<br />
<br />
Today, I hug my wife and children a little tighter, remembering the life and tragic death of Rahma Salie, killed at age 28.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO5Gas2px-rrIS7cNAfgPkxNEcYfYNQpMYHpssuVxo4GSylTWenB2m3G7NLe3JS5SqbIMCJBFLh2nLkrNsjtCMYCCh9znvSoyQqVsiRiWiLYAmO60zAst4TtqwMZTuvcOn1eiiRCm9CY/s1600-h/michaelrahmadance.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380269094413437762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO5Gas2px-rrIS7cNAfgPkxNEcYfYNQpMYHpssuVxo4GSylTWenB2m3G7NLe3JS5SqbIMCJBFLh2nLkrNsjtCMYCCh9znvSoyQqVsiRiWiLYAmO60zAst4TtqwMZTuvcOn1eiiRCm9CY/s400/michaelrahmadance.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 337px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698037740166386733.post-41233013121112822092018-09-11T08:30:00.001-07:002018-09-11T08:25:45.786-07:00Project 2,996: Remember Michael Theodoridis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This tribute is respectfully reposted from 9/11/09.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3madXA9CDZovSuAAr-9D9Vfsayb6vvC0IiylnRbTt7aGJNrbm4SJlWpm-8CdDE-3N2flarOK6YWC8b3xD9dAlLAh_IPVGG0Dxj3-XYHERPIS2TM8SnYlG-zTR-Sp3nHm6XPJq6zlW8FM/s1600-h/michaeltheodoridis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379979999054062338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3madXA9CDZovSuAAr-9D9Vfsayb6vvC0IiylnRbTt7aGJNrbm4SJlWpm-8CdDE-3N2flarOK6YWC8b3xD9dAlLAh_IPVGG0Dxj3-XYHERPIS2TM8SnYlG-zTR-Sp3nHm6XPJq6zlW8FM/s400/michaeltheodoridis.jpg" style="display: block; height: 142px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 110px;" /></a><br />
Michael Theodoridis, 32, and his wife, Rahma Salie, 28, were passengers on American Airlines Flight 11 on September 11, 2001. Rahma was seven months pregnant with their first child. The two were looking forward to being parents as they boarded the plane, intending to travel to California to attend a wedding.<br />
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Michael was of Greek descent and grew up in Switzerland. He graduated from Boston University and worked as a technical consultant in Cambridge, Massachusetts.<br />
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It was difficult to find information about Michael's life, but many online memorial comments helped me to understand the kind of man he was, and how desperately missed he will be:<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">It's nearly 8 years later and I still vividly remember the day shortly after 9/11 when it went from being a national tragedy to also being a more personal tragedy for me after I found out that Micky and Rahma were on Flight 11. Each summer when my second son has another birthday, I think about Micky's unborn child being the same age as I remember Micky congratulating me and telling me how excited he was about his future as a father.<br />
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I pray that they both rest in peace and be granted a place in Heaven. Amen.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Abdullah Haydar</span><br />
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Micky:<br />
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I never forget your kindness and always positive outlook on life. I had a great time working with/for you at i-cube in Cambridge.<br />
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On this 7th anniversary of the attacks, I pray Rahma's, your kid's and your souls are blessed and somewhere special.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Rob Garcia</span><br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Sincere sympathy for the loss of my cousin Michael, rest in peace in God's hand.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">John Pondelis</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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In a business culture full of people whom you forget and whom forget you the instant you part, both Micky and Rhama were anything but forgettable. I still remember Rhama asking me to do an imitation of her accent and it makes me laugh with the memory. Like someone else who commented on this site, it was also Michael's humour, patience and support that kept me going in a very difficult work situation. The world is a much colder place without these two stellar human beings.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Colin Owens</span><br />
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I worked with Mickey on multiple projects in i-Cube (Stuttgart, Germany; Phoenix, AZ and later in NYC). He was a great friend of mine in addition to being a professional colleague. He was very funny and used to crack me up at difficult times. He worked very hard and managed to keep his sense of humor. He and Rahma were made for each other. It is sad that they could not be together longer. It's so sad! My deepest condolences to his family and friends.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jay Natarajan</span><br />
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America Cries<br />
We see your sorrow-<br />
and our hearts cry....<br />
We can not erase your pain<br />
but you do not have to face the anguish alone-for we-<br />
-the American people-<br />
are beside you.<br />
We so desperately want to have the touch that brings you comfort,<br />
the strength that gives you courage,<br />
and the words to lighten your spirits.<br />
And when we are left speechless<br />
may the silence of our nation weave love into your hearts<br />
to ease your sorrow.<br />
May you find healing through our nation's strength as we-<br />
-the American people-<br />
face this difficult time together. Our hearts are with you.</span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Teresa Jahn</span><br />
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Please light a candle for Michael, his family and those who loved him. Say a prayer for the father-to-be, husband, and friend who lost his life on September 11, 2001.<br />
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Never forget.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099; font-size: 100%;">This tribute is part of <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">Project 2,996</a>, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, <a href="https://project2996.wordpress.com/we-remember/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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Christina-Marie Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16669501917338549778noreply@blogger.com7