All we have left now are images and memories. These
are some of mine:


I remember the day J.J. was born, my mother calling
from the maternity ward at Riverview Hospital, telling
me it was a boy. I remember thinking ruefully, uh-oh,
there goes my position of power as the eldest
daughter. Even at six, I had tacitly understood that
the first male child born to a Latin family becomes
ëThe Prince'. But despite this squalling infant
usurping my primogeniture, I came to love my baby
brother, and eagerly helped my mother to take care of
him. I remember him laying on the changing table, and
then being horrified when I touched the gnarled black
thing that grew out of his fat baby tummy and it fell
off. Not knowing what an umbilical cord was, I had
thought I had broken him.

He grew into a precocious toddler with long brown
curls (it was the "70's", ok?) whose favorite
activities were playing in the mud puddles in our
driveway and throwing horrible tantrums. By the age of
three, he was skinny and wiry and fast. He was still
drinking out of a baby bottle, but he could also ride
a two-wheeled bike, swear like a sailor, and hold his
own with the neighborhood teenage boys. The next
couple of years he spent terrorizing Monique and I
with his cap gun, sneaking up on us and scaring us to
death, not to mention forever damaging our eardrums. I
remember those small red strips of paper that issued
from the gun and the smoky odor of those fired-off
caps. Bang! Bang! Bang! And then his gleeful little
boy laugh.

We moved to California when Jay was about nine. He
bought himself a BMX bike with the earnings from his
paper route. And once he presented our mother with a
small gold ring with a tiny diamond for Mother's Day,
for which he'd spent $110. She wears it to this day.
My own son recently gave me a silver necklace that he
got out of a gumball machine at the local pizza place.
It wasn't until then that I fully understood what that
ring must mean to my mother, how deep a mother's love
for her son can be.

At about twelve or thirteen, Jay moved to Portugal
with my parents, where he attended St. Julian's, a
private British school. At one point, he was captain
of the basketball team. Quite an impressive feat for a
guy who was only about 5'7".  He returned to New
Jersey to attend senior year at Rumson-Fair Haven
High, and lived with our Uncle Vic in Rumson and then
Ray Smith, Jr., our aunt's brother, always known to us
as "Skipper", who through the years became like an
older brother and mentor to Jay. Most weekends he
would come down to the shore to Monmouth Beach to
spend the day at Skipper's place, playing volleyball,
lounging and socializing over beers with friends on
the beach behind Skip's house.

J.J. attended New York's Adelphi University for the
first two years of college, later transferring to
George Washington University in D.C., where he
graduated with a B.S. in Finance. His goal was to be
highly successful as a trader, and he was well on his
way. He was first employed at the Japanese Iyo Bank,
then at Fuji Bank. In 1999, he secured a position with
Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, an asset management firm
located on the 88th and 89th floor of the World Trade
Center. JJ was was about to be promoted to Vice
President pending the completion of the requirements
to become a Certified Financial Analyst, which he did.

In recent years, he grew a goatee, claiming "no one
will invest money with me if I look like I'm 14 years
old." It is truly the bane of our family to look
younger than our chronological age ñ (you don't get no
respect!.) Nevertheless, Jay, looking at 30 like he
was in his early 20's, was our family's answer to JFK
Jr. - a handsome, energetic, strong-jawed, wavy
haired, successful New Yorker, dashing around
Manhattan. He was truly the pride and joy of both our
parents, who were lucky to have been recently visited
in Portugal by he and Lisa in June.

Our lives diverged as we grew older, as many siblings
do, who live far apart. He was in New York, my sister
and I in California. But every few weeks or so, we
would call one another, to catch up on our respective
lives. He always made sure to keep abreast of how my
son, his only nephew, was doing. I had always hoped to
influence Jay to transfer to the West Coast. Our
generation seems to be slowly migrating to the West
Coast, one by one, and I'd hope he would, too. To me,
San Francisco seemed friendlier, prettier, safer -
despite the threat of earthquakes.

We last spent time with J.J. in April, at Easter, when
the Botterill family gathered for our grandfather
Van's 90th birthday near Asheville North Carolina.
Jay, Lisa and I, and Sebastian spent a beautiful day
together touring the nearby Biltmore Estate. A couple
of days later I dropped Jay and Lisa at the airport. I
remember inviting them to visit San Francisco, and
then hugging him goodbye, this last time I saw my
little brother.

Strangely, I last spoke to J.J. on Sunday night,
September 9, about 36 hours previous to the attack and
the end of his life. He called and first spoke with
his 9-year-old nephew Sebastian Brunemeier. They
talked about school and soccer, Sebastian having
recently begun playing the sport. J.J. promised to
send him a new soccer ball. Sebastian always thought
Uncle Jay sent the coolest gifts, always just what he
wanted: video games, a new TV, sports equipment.

The phone was passed to me, and we spoke about what
was going on in our
lives. He told me he'd spent the previous weekend in
Southampton with his girlfriend, Lisa. That Sunday he
had just returned from a day at Monmouth Beach Club,
where he and Monique and I had spent our childhood
summers. He could frequently be found on the tennis
court there as a kid. He gave me the rundown on who
was doing what: this old friend just had a baby, that
one's getting married, etc. He expressed interest in
becoming an adult member himself, so that we could all
converge at the beach club together in the future.
That would have been a lot of fun.

What struck me during this conversation was how happy
Jay was, both personally and professionally. He was
enjoying his job, and was in the process of moving in
with Lisa. He was looking forward to
living with her at her place in Colt's Neck, NJ, in a
140-year-old restored farmhouse with a couple of
thoroughbreds galloping around out back. He seemed
completely content. That's all any of us can hope to
achieve before we go: complete contentment.

The last thing I said to Jay was "it was good to talk
to you." It was also good to have known him. I am
having a difficult time believing I won't ever see him
again. I will always miss his face, sarcastic wit and
his impish energy. As well, I so deeply regret that my
son will not have J.J. in his life as he grows up.

We have learned from co-workers that Jay spent the
last few minutes of his life, after the first plane
hit Tower one, and before the second hit Tower Two,
urging others to leave the office and checking on
friends on other floors. It was so characteristic of
him to not give a thought to getting himself out of
the doomed building.

For all of us here, left behind, we must remember that
the best things in life aren't things, that every one
of us has a limited time on this earth, and to try to
make that time count by spending as much of it with
those we love, and to strive to improve the world
while we are here.

My brother accomplished all of those. Goodbye, little
brother. There are so many of us whom you affected in
a positive way, and an amazing number that loved you
and will miss you.

Your sister, Taciana


Taciana de Aguiar
31 Reed Blvd # 1-D
Mill Valley, CA 94941
(415)383-4888
taciana23@yahoo.com