Given the opportunity, I wonder what we would say in our last minutes on earth. The Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on thousands of innocent Americans gave the world the shocking opportunity to watch and listen as thousands of people perished. In the days following the tragedy, the media allowed us glimpses into the tragic moments of lives snuffed out by evil — while the victims were aware of their danger or coming death. Some of these people had time and self-awareness in their final minutes to call or email their loved ones and describe their circumstances. Their messages give those of us left to carry on their legacy a glimpse into what people really find important when life is at stake.

Almost without exception, the emails and phone messages from the victims were simple and brief messages of love and reassurance for their loved ones, reported the National Post in a story Sept. 15, 2001.

One mother, who didn't want the Post to use her name, told of her 24-year-old son's final words to her from the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center: "Mom, the ceiling's coming down. I'm going to die. I love you."

"Go and hold someone's hand," she told him. "Be with someone. I don't want you to die alone."

There was no mention in their conversation of whether or not he'd made the right career choice coming out of college. He didn't talk about how the internship he took after his sophomore year really put him on the right career path. He didn't talk about his Xbox, needing to get in another work out, or that it was beer-o'clock. The young man didn't talk about a relationship that he may or may not have had.

Ecclesiastes 7:2 is a passage of the Bible that made me uncomfortable when I first read it, but I've since come to appreciate it. The verse says, "It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart."

Death is our destiny, and we should take this to heart. I think Solomon, commonly thought to be the author of Ecclesiastes, is saying that it's a wake-up call for the living to consider death. Every American got such a wake-up call on Sept. 11, 2001. Will we hit the snooze and go back to our warm cozy lives of comfort, or will we put into practice what we can learn through death?

Few of the emails and cell phone calls from the planes and the World Trade Center said much more than the words "I love you."

"We have been hijacked," Lauren Grandcolas said to her husband from Flight 93. "They are being kind. I love you."

No complaint about confusing cell phone rates.

"I can't believe a plane just hit the building," Mike LaForte, 39, said to his wife, who he called from the 105th floor of the World Trade Center's North Tower. "Tell the kids I love them, and I'll talk to you soon."

LaForte didn't mention his life insurance policy, or that he was sure glad he spent extra weekends working on the stock portfolio. He didn't take his last moments to mention what kind of car he drove, or his last promotion at work. Only his friends knew what mattered to him in life, but we know what he cared about when facing death.

Mark Bingham, 31, has been referred to as a hero. He was aboard United Airlines flight 93, which crashed in Pennsylvania when the passengers attempted to overthrow the hijackers. The plane never reached its intended target, which is presumed to be somewhere in Washington, D.C. From the airplane, Bingham called his mom, Alice Hoglan.

"Mom, this is Mark Bingham," he said. "I want you to know that I love you very much and am calling from the plane. We've been taken over. There are three men, and they say they have a bomb ... I don't know who they are ... I love you, I love you, I love you."

When have any of us told our moms we loved them three times in a row?

We were probably too busy, or preoccupied with our studies, or feeling guilty because she's going to tell us to go to church, class, on a date, eat more, take a break, work harder, get better grades — whatever — and we haven't done her bidding. Maybe we were depressed about a relationship gone sour, or stressed by our academic or work schedule. Perhaps we've got a good grudge going against Mom and don't want to spoil it with sappy sentiment. Maybe we can't talk to her because "there's just no way she can understand" what it's like for us. She's too old, too close-minded, too uptight and too emotional. Maybe Mark Bingham was different than the rest of us, a real mamma's boy — maybe not.

We Americans who didn't lose a loved one Sept. 11 have the uncomfortable opportunity of reflecting on the deaths and the last words spoken by some of the victims. It would be a shame if the messages they communicated to those they loved, and through the media to the rest of the world, weren't heeded.

Until this tragedy we might have been comfortable living for the things we've been told are important: grades, academic degrees, test scores, the right clothes, the right car, the right job, the right party, the right image. Certainly these things are important, on some level, but they aren't primary. It would be naïve to assume the victims of the terrorists consistently treated their loved ones in life the way they spoke to them in death, they almost certainly didn't. But I wonder if, for a split second, they wished they did. We have the option of changing the way we live our lives. We can heed the message dozens thought so important they spoke it with their last words — or we can pretend we didn't notice.

Sept. 11, 2001, we realized the depths of evil and learned the value of life. Thousands of people died when the walls of the Pentagon and World Trade Center came down. Hopefully those of us left to reflect on the loss will learn to love one another as we were created by God to do — through the inner transformation that's the product of our relationship with our Creator. We're not going to eradicate evil from the earth, or create a humanistic utopia, but we'll be fulfilled through living as we were intended to live. We only live once, so let's be sure our "I love you" messages at the end of our lives are consistent with how we've lived.

One more reminder: Melissa Hughes, who was trapped in one of the towers of the World Trade Center, left a message for her husband on their answering machine in San Francisco. It would be the last message she'd leave him.

"Sean, it's me. I just wanted to let you know I love you, and I'm stuck in this building in New York. A plane hit the building, or a bomb went off. We don't know, but there's a lot of smoke, and I just wanted you to know that I love you always."

(All quotes from: Brean, Joseph. "Honouring the Dead: Last Words." National Post. 9/15/01.)