I was at a conference at Fordham University this past May entitled “Moral Outrage and Moral Repair — Reflections on 9/11 and its Afterlife.” The title interested me, as it seemed to accurately describe large portions of my existence this past decade.

My brother, Bill Kelly, Jr., died in Tower 1 on September 11th. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He didn’t work at the Trade Center.

Ironically, Bill’s prior visit to Windows on the World was in December 2000 to receive an employee recognition award. Who knew that the one-day conference Bill was attending on September 11th, the conference he persuaded his boss into letting him attend, would be an event from which he would never return.

Moral outrage — certainly. At the extremists that murdered my brother. At the twist of fate that led him to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. At a humanity that allows for violence as a means to make a point, state your case, right perceived wrongs. At anyone who dared exult in the agonizing smoke and fire.

Then came feelings of confusion — at my country, now planning to bomb others a world away. Didn’t we — yes, we — just live through terror and horrific violence? So then how could we — yes, we — be the cause of similar harm to others? Confusion, also, with my church.

What is a just war exactly? Why does the justification to injure others seem so hypocritical … and human? And how does one truly live out the gospels—or are they simply a collection of beautiful stories?

Finding a group of 9/11 family members who had these and similar concerns was a true blessing. In February of 2002, we formally became an organization, September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows. We have been working together to break cycles of violence ever since, and our members are “the best friends I never wanted to know.”

I have learned that moral repair will take a lifetime, and then some (I believe). September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows is a large part of this process for me. Bill is gone; and safe; and no longer in pain. I also like to believe he is surrounded by love. My faith tells me so.

But I learned another lesson in moral repair at Fordham, from one of the speakers — a rabbi named Irwin Kula. He pointed out a truth that I desperately believe in: the most important and sacred value in our very fragile human lives is love. In the months following 9/11, Rabbi Kula became fascinated with the last words of those killed on September 11th. After reading a few stories in the paper, he began seeking out the last words and sentences of anyone he could find who was killed that day.

And you know what he discovered? Not a single person said “Kill them.” “Get those **** back.” “Avenge my death.” No. Last words were not about hatred; they were sometimes about fear, but ultimately, and overwhelmingly, the last words of those killed on 9/11 were about love. “Tell mom and dad I love them.” “Tell the kids I’ll miss them and I love them.” “Julie, it’s bad, but know that I love you.”

So what do these last words tell us? I like to think they teach a lesson. There’s a time for righteous moral outrage, just as there’s a time for accountability, and justice. Peaceful Tomorrows helps with these vital goals. But in the end, it’s about love, and my brother Bill. How much he loved and was loved. How much I miss him. And how much I want the world to be a place where last words are never the end result of political violence, but instead reflect a full and just life, well lived.

Editor’s note: Shortly after losing her brother, Bronx resident Colleen Kelly, inspired by decades of non-violent response to deadly conflict, met several other like-minded people who had lost family members on 9/11. This group of people eventually formed September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows, which took its name from the Martin Luther King, Jr. quote, “Wars make poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows.” The group has over 200 family members and has twice been nominated for the Nobel Peace prize. You can learn more about the group at www.peacefultomorrows.org.