After losing her daughter in the crash of flight 93 in Shanksville, Pa., a mother returns to the site of the crash to discover a friend By JODIE MORSE

Posted Sunday, September 1, 2002; 3:38 p.m. EST
ary Louise White first set out for Shanksville, Pa., last Oct. 8 on what would have been her daughter Elizabeth's 28th birthday. Scanning the hillside where Flight 93 had crashed, White was overcome—not by the rage or revenge she had rehearsed in her head—but by the peace of the place. "I thought, if she had to die before me, at least it happened in this beautiful little section of Pennsylvania," she recalls.

On her way back from the crash site, White saw a heap of bouquets, rosaries and stuffed animals on the side of the road and pulled over. It was one of the many shrines for Flight 93's passengers created by Shanksville's 245 residents. Kim Friedline, who was watching over the ad hoc memorial, offered her condolences, breaking the strained silence that haunted so many encounters between the people of Shanksville and Flight 93 relatives. Their exchange was pleasant if pained, but Friedline secured White's address in Port St. Lucie, Fla., and said she would send photos of the roadside tribute.

The pictures arrived as promised—followed by frequent bulletins from Friedline, detailing plans for a permanent memorial, describing small-town living in Shanksville and Friedline's life helping to raise her niece Kelsea, 10, in the very house she grew up in. "Kim was a bit like a strip of Velcro," says White. "But it wasn't in a way like she was feeling sorry for me. If something was a little silly, she wouldn't be afraid to tell me about it." White grew to count on these written updates, but in the blur of those early months never got around to writing back. When White finally called just before Christmas, she says, "it felt like we were picking up on an old friendship, not starting something new."

White visited Shanksville again in April and planted a pear tree in Friedline's yard. Now the two are constantly in touch by phone and e-mail. Sometimes there are mutual tears, but usually the two just gab—about Kelsea's first crush, about the fact that there's just one Wal-Mart in driving distance from Shanksville—often finishing each other's sentences. Photos of Elizabeth now rest on Friedline's coffee table and a picture of two horses that once hung in Elizabeth's bedroom now adorns Kelsea's. "Unfortunately, I never got to know Elizabeth," says Friedline, who frequently brings fresh flowers and yellow ribbons to the crash site. "Now I see it as my job to guard her and keep her safe."