My grandfather died in 1952. I never did meet him, but I did meet my grandmother and my aunts, who lived to a ripe old age.

My mother didn't raise us Jewish, but my daughter wanted to become involved with the synagogue.

I remember when it happened she didn't know where her father or her aunts or her grandmother was and how her grandmother was really sick. I remember her talking about that a lot. And she went through a depression stage, but then she also used that to lift her up rather than keep her down. It was bad, but in a way it was good because it made her become stronger.

I told them that my grandfather had died in the Great Crash of 1929 - a stockbroker jumped out of a window and crushed him and his pushcart down below.

I am a fourth-generation descendant of the Sand Creek Massacre. My great-grandmother and great-grandfather were here during the attack, and they survived it. It's a special place for us, and I am happy that legislation to make this an historic site has passed.

When I die, I want to die like my grandfather who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car.