After a 13-day siege, on March 6, 1836, Mexican troops led by General Antonio López de Santa Anna laid siege to and overran the Alamo fortress at Mission San Antonio de Valero, killing all the Texan defenders inside, including Davey Crockett. Sam Huston’s army used the battle cry “Remember the Alamo” weeks later at the battle of San Jacinto where they defeated Santa Anna and won Texas’ independence. Too bad we don’t teach History in school anymore, or is that event to politically volatile?

It’s been almost a week since the 25^th Anniversary Remembrance of the 9-11 attacks on our country. For 24 hours, social media and TV special programming replayed scenes that to most of us over age 30 actually watched live as it happened. In addition to the videos and eye-witness accounts of that day’s horrific events, I frequently saw and heard the expression “Never Forget,” and “We Remember.”

By now, most folks have either shrugged it off or have mentally and emotionally filed it away, back into a dark place until next year’s anniversary. Personally, I’ve been wondering if anyone will remember.

I’ll tell you who will: Survivors, those fortunate folks who made it down, out and away, baptized in flame and ash. And families and friends of the First Responders who perished. They gave their last full measure of duty, for strangers. What a parable for Who is My Neighbor.

It’s easy to move on from what was seen on TV or cell phone screens last week – a kind of remote viewing of imagery that can be easily shut off in favor of something much less psychologically unsettling. But when one comprehends what happened in terms of the individual lives that were lost – someone’s mom or dad, or spouse, or long-time associate and friend – a deep sense of shock and anguish forms feelings that are never too soon forgotten.

In the two towers, people were sitting at their computers, enjoying that first cup of coffee, maybe chatting about last night’s Netflix movie they’d seen. Outside those windows, it was a crisp, blue-sky Fall day about to unfold, like any other work day, until those planes appeared, nose first, full of jet fuel and people gripping their seatbelts, praying, unaware that they were not just feet above the Manhattan skyline, but only heartbeats away from concrete and steel.

In a matter of seconds, some people were no longer people. They were vaporized. Approximately 1100 victims. No body to recover, to send to the morgue. Nothing to return home for the family to bury, not even a fingernail.

Melissa Cándida Doi, a 32-year-old senior manager at IQ Financial Systems, was trapped on the 83rd floor of the South Tower after United Airlines Flight 175 struck the building. She dialed 9-1-1 at 9:32 AM. Speaking with the dispatcher, she pleaded for help. “It’s so hot. Please. There is so much smoke, I can’t breathe. Please! The floor is so hot. I’m think I’m going to die.” The operator kept saying “Stay calm, dear, stay calm. Everything’s going to be okay.” Then, after 24 agonizing minutes, just a humming noise on the line, shortly before the building collapsed.

Choosing air over fire, there were those who became known not by face or by name but simply as “The Jumpers.” The images of falling people were so disturbing that after several dozen were seen by millions of viewers, the live TV broadcasts stopped showing any more. There may have been over 200 who took the ten second free fall to escape the hellfire burning at their backs. Videos show first responders at Ground Zero visibly shaken as they heard the loud thumps hitting outside the lobby like huge watermelons exploding.

FDNY Chaplain Mychal Judge raced to the twin towers from his midtown Engine Company One/ Ladder Company 24. As the chaos unfolded, he prayed for the people trapped, for the rescuers and for humanity at the North Tower command center when the South Tower collapsed. Struck by falling debris, he was fatally injured. Dare we think that God took out His own man, along with the other 2753 souls at the Trade Center location? Or did the hijackers just have a really lucky day flying jet airplanes?

Even tragedy can have irony. Like the hundreds of business papers floating down and around the towers, like doves, released from the traps of death. Someone’s annuities statement. An email print-out. A memo about next week’s meeting. Page seven of an electrician in Muncie, Indiana’s life insurance policy. It reminds me of reading Ecclesiastes, how the Preacher laments that “all is vanity, and chasing after the wind,” like those once important papers. The Hebrew word we translate as “vanity” is hevel, which means “vapor” or “smoke,” affirming the reality that life is temporary, fleeting and fragile rather than worthless – a perspective mortally proven on 9-11.

Years ago, I watched an interview with a civilian who was working in the Pentagon when struck that morning. Inferno. The word is inadequate. He saw things that no human should see. People running, screaming down hallways, through roaring flames, their clothing and hair scorched off, white men and women turned black. He tried to help someone up from the floor, but their arm came off at the shoulder.

It’s truly amazing what a couple religious zealots with box cutters can do — to thousands of lives and to a country’s future.

“Remember the Maine!” was a famous rallying cry arising from the sinking of the USS Maine battleship, which exploded in Havana Harbor, Cuba, on February 15, 1898, killing over 260 crew members. That was 128 years ago. We’ve forgotten. I’ll bet some newer generations couldn’t point to the state of Maine on a map no less know about what caused the United States to go to war with Spain as a result of the attack.

Time moves on, we move on, from one triumph or tragedy to another. These few scenarios I have presented here are why I won’t forget about that dreadful date on every year’s calendar. I don’t want to forget