'Leave me alone,' 12-year-old Sanjay said when his father Raju Thankachan asked him to speak about his mother Valsa Raju, one of the victims of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center [Images] on 9/11.

He then ran away up the stairs and into his room.

His elder sister Soniya, now an 11th grader at Austin High School in Sugarland, Texas, spoke about their mother, and about living life without a mother's nurturing presence.

Seven years have passed, Soniya said, but not a day goes by without Valsa's memory intruding on their consciousness.

Tragically, while she misses her mother, Soniya finds herself unable to quantify how life has changed following the tragedy.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully.

"I don't know what it would have been like living with my mother, so I cannot compare and tell you the difference," she said, referring to the fact that she was too young at the time of the tragedy, to fully appreciate its subsequent implications.

 Tragedy is often painted in bold brushstrokes, and 9/11 is no exception. Yet the very real tragedies, you realize, are the little ones that pass unnoticed by all except those intimately involved. Soniya, for instance, vividly recalls her mother -- but try as she will, she cannot recollect what Valsa's voice sounded like.

A year after the tragedy, the family moved to Texas, but Soniya and Sanjay prefer New York.

"In New York there are more people. Most of our relatives are also there. Moreover, it is very hot in Texas," Soniya said.

Both children are doing well in school. Teachers and classmates alike are aware that Soniya is the daughter of a 9/11 victim, but they do not behave in any special fashion towards her, but treat her same as everyone else, she says -- and that helps.

She plans on becoming a dentist; the fact that medical doctors are always on call and lead busy schedules decided her against a career in general medicine.

On 9/11, she will as always have special prayers for her mother. Private ones, as the Mar Thoma Church to which the family belongs, do not allow special mass or prayers for the dead.

More than her, she says, it is her younger brother Sanjay who misses his mother. Sanjay, who had by then come back into the room, talked of doing well in school, of having many friends, and of his love for basketball. He too plans to have special prayers said in memory of his mother, he said.

"Life is not the same for the children, or for me," Raju Thankachan told rediff.com.

"It is difficult to remember those days, and to go through the painful memories again."

It is not just the immediate family that continues to suffer.

"Even to this day, I find it hard to convince myself that such a precious person is no longer here with me," said Ashby Thomas, Valsa's niece.

"All I have are memories that last a lifetime. God gives and takes away, so I live in the hope that one day I will see her again. It's been 7 years, but the feeling of losing Valsa aunty is still deep, painful and it hurts beyond any words or description."

Valsa Raju, 39, was an employee at Carr Futures, a risk management firm located on the 92nd floor of the North Tower, when the first plane hit at around 8.48 am. All 68 employees of Carr, who were at work at the time, died.

It was nearly a year later before her body parts were discovered. Prior to that, the family had already bought space at Valhalla, a cemetery in Westchester, New York for Valsa, with a wooden cross marking the site. Inside, they played an urn with soil from Ground Zero.

Once her body parts were recovered, a proper funeral service was held, and the body was interred at the Valhalla plot. The urn was then removed, and is now in possession of the family as yet another memento of a life cut off in its prime.

Image: Soniya and Sanjay at their mother's grave

Text: George Joseph

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