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Amy King

Amy King

United flight attendants Amy King, 29, and her boyfriend, Michael Tarrou, 38, were working together aboard United Flight 175 on Sept. 11.

The two lounged together, planned a life together and even sang together--most recently with King contributing a backup "I love you" on a recording of "Couch Potato," a song written and performed by Tarrou.

"They were soulmates," said Tarrou's mother, Patricia, who took comfort from the fact that they could support each other one last time in the moments before the hijacked United flight struck the second tower of the World Trade Center.

Amy King"I know they were doing everything they could to help the passengers," she said. "Though I hope they were in each others' arms."

King and Tarrou had been together since meeting at work in the Boston area a few years before. They moved in together five months ago and lived in Stafford Springs, Conn.

On the horizon was another move, to Florida, so Tarrou could be closer to his 11-year-old daughter, Gina. Working as a flight attendant, despite the odd schedules, permitted long weekends devoted to his 6th-grade daughter, who talks now about her father's humor, the dances he would do just for her and about his being in a better place.

amy and michaelKing and Tarrou both grew up in New York, had a love for flying, an interest in the arts and a deep loyalty to family and friends.

King grew up in Wantagh and lived with her sister, Debbie Lloyd, while based out of Chicago during the 1990s.

King was the youngest of three sisters, said Lloyd, but was the one with the most infectious personality. While based in Boston, she still visited Lloyd's children at least once a month, imbuing them with her playful sense of humor and easy laugh.

"She liked to imitate voices, children's voices. She was like a kid herself," Lloyd said, adding that it was clear Tarrou was "the one" for her younger sister. They wanted to have children, she said, and King hoped they would all see the world together one day.

Tarrou grew up in Long Island, one of four children. He had tried a few other careers, from composing music (he didn't like to perform) to repairing air conditioners. He went into the airline industry after getting tired of crawling in hot attics, his mother said.

"Flying represented the freedom of being up in the sky," said his father, James.

Dear Amy,

I miss you so much today.

You never had the chance to give the world a life.

To listen to a tiny heartbeat in a doctor's office, before you even feel pregnant. A simple sound that brings you to tears of joy.

You never got to see your newborn's first few breaths, or hold him close and smell his skin and caress his little feet.

Your love and laughter would have filled your child's life with warmth and comfort like a big, warm blanket.

Your little child(ren) would have been so beautiful, like you. And you would have felt a love that's deeper than anything you've ever felt before.

On this Mother's Day, we miss not only you, Amy, but what you were going to give to us and the world, in becoming a Mom one day.
The gifts you would have given your child are unlike any other.
With your gentle strength and insight, you'd have been the perfect Mother.

I love you, Amy, and miss you more each day.


Debbie Lloyd (Naperville, IL ) --- Family Friend
May 12, 2002

Beautiful Amy,

Even though I didn't know you in life, I know you now. I tell everyone that I lost my good friend on September 11th, when in reality, I found you on that day. During my association with Southwestern, the school which is so proud to be known as your alma mater, I have become close to your family, to Sue and Stub, to Kellie, and my dear Debbie and her babies. This marvelous blessing in my life from knowing you and them is incalculable. I love them and I love you.

When my son, Jeff, was "assigned" the job of writing an article for the high school newspaper about your tree planting in the circle by the dome, our lives changed, our lives grew and stretched, our lives were elevated and will never be mundane again. This is because of you, Amy. You cast your beautiful light upon us and we can never retreat into the darkness again. You made us strong, you made us proud, you made us fight for you and your memory, you made us better. I am a kinder person for knowing you, Amy, and I am thankful.

When I started having the dreams of you, I was surprised at first, but not shocked. I have many dreams of people here and over there with you, and I now think of these dreams as magic times when I am transported to a world of love and peace, a world which knows no violence and killing; where little children can go through whole lives without once losing their aunt, who was their shining star; where mothers never have to sob during the night and hide those sobs during the day; where fathers don’t have to smile with their lips and cry with their eyes; where sisters can talk freely and often to their baby sister who made their lives enchanted, who charmed them and entertained them, who was cherished; where friends can touch your soft cheeks and beautiful hair, hear your voice and see your smile illuminate the world; where unicorns still grace the neighing air with galloping and glow in soft sunset hues of pink and purple; where love and peace extinguish hatred and evil; where hope twinkles its promise, bright and strong; where you are, Amy.

I have come to believe that you are my angel, Amy, an angel put on this earth to transform people, to make them better, to pull them up to their tallest and grandest humanity, to bless our lives in a way that no other person could or ever will. I can’t reason this away or explain this in earthly terms, I only know it is real. I thank you for this gift to my life, Amy, and it is my life’s vow to honor your memory, to keep your name fresh in the minds and hearts of everyone who comes into contact with me, to be the best person I can because in comparison to you, there is no other option; your smile inspires me and directs me. It is impossible to stay sad or self-infused or upset or mad or bored or jealous or miserable or ungrateful in the light of your glowing and gorgeous beauty. I keep your picture all around my house, Amy. You know the one: the beautiful one of you and Debbie on the Fourth of July at the Lake, two months before the sky took you. There is magic in that picture, Amy. And you know the magic, the magic of dreams that cannot die, of lives which can always feel your tender touch upon their shoulders, of possibility and promise and devotion and honor—and, I will honor that magic forever, Amy, and you.

Cheryl Fardink (Lakewood, NY )
August 3, 2002

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