Perhaps you don't remember the Ghost Ship. Maybe enough time or distance has elapsed that it's just a vague memory. Indeed, these tragedies have a way of moving in and out of our consciousness, replaced by news of other events—a 60 point night by Klay Thompson, the Cubs' winning the World Series, the burns on your foot when you accidentally spilled the pot of chili. But for the families of thirty-six young people—artists, teachers, students, vocalists, musicians—for their friends and relatives, what happened at the Ghost Ship a little after 11:00 the night of December 2nd won't ever be replaced. The mother of one of the victims woke up Saturday morning and read this haunting text from her daughter, "I'm going to die, mom. I love you." Facing death many of the victims were found holding on to each other. The federal inspectors are gone now. Cleanup has begun. The car stereo and alarms business next store is open and bustling. And for the first time the public can see where these thirty-six suffered and died and can offer candles, poems, flowers, letters...and prayers.
For the first time the public is permitted to see the scene close up.
Preschool children leave their hand prints in memory of the victims.
This remaining painted icon says what words can't say.
The light red document prohibits entry into the shell of the building.
With the FTA inspectors gone, the cleanup begins.