This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2011, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

To see all of The Tribune's video interviews of Utahns, visit http://bit.ly/911videos. To see the rest of the coverage of the 10th anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks, visit www.sltrib.com/topics/sept11.

When American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, on board was Mary Alice Wahlstrom, the Kaysville mother and grandmother who had a contagious laugh, who would run from her porch to greet her family and whose house always smelled like chocolate chip cookies.

Mallory Wahlstrom was 12 when her grandmother died. One of Mary Alice's 15 grandchildren left behind, Mallory remembers watching the fiery crash that morning, not knowing her grandmother and aunt Carolyn Beug were aboard. She recalls the fears that swelled during the day while she was at school, and the sad nod from her mother when she returned home, confirming the worst.

But for this granddaughter, now 22, the terrorist attacks have come to represent much more than loss. Major events in her life — terrible and terrific — seem to have conspired to happen around this anniversary. All revolve around life and near-death, turning the once-cursed day into a time to celebrate life.

Mallory's husband of one year was born on Sept. 11. She was due to give birth to their daughter a week before Sept. 11 this year, though the baby came early because of life-threatening complications.

And the kidney that Mallory had donated to her brother in 2009 failed and rallied around that fateful day.

On this 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Mallory plans to focus on the good that has come from the disaster: How she learned at a young age not to let the tragedies of the past stop her from living today.

"As hopeless as 9/11 was, it kind of taught me how to hope," she said recently.

It's an attitude shared by her parents, Norman and Margaret Wahlstrom. Margaret, Mary Alice's daughter-in-law, said the tragedy made the family more aware of the need to serve others after they received so much outpouring of support after the crash. See an essay by Norman and Margaret Wahlstrom at http://bit.ly/p3TFe8.

"All our nerves became sensitive to serving and caring," she said. "When you are the recipients of that kind of love, it makes you want to go and give it."

—

'She always comes to my mind' •The day Andy Wahlstrom realized he would need a kidney transplant was when he awoke weighing 20 pounds heavier. The high school social science teacher at Davis High asked his students if he looked chubby. One said he looked like he'd had his wisdom teeth pulled. Later, a fellow teacher found him lying on the floor in pain.

The disorder he had been diagnosed with five years earlier, IgA nephropathy, in which a protein builds up inside the small blood vessels of the kidneys, had progressed much faster than expected.

His kidneys had failed. Listless and strapped to a machine to cleanse his blood, there would be no more marathons or triathlons.

Mallory, the youngest of seven, was adamant she wanted to donate and wasn't dissuaded by her parents urging her to let older siblings take the lead.

Seeing her lifeless brother was the impetus. Her giving and loving grandmother was the inspiration, Mallory says.

"She always comes to my mind when I make decisions," she said. "I was very motivated by my brother's health and my love for my brother. But there's always an underlying example. My grandma was the ultimate example of love and service."

But the surgery didn't go well for Mallory. An unanticipated web of blood vessels meant she needed multiple blood transfusions, she said. A surgical needle was left inside her. And she said her lungs collapsed after surgery.

When she was well enough, she shared a recovery room with Andy. Seeing his once gray face now pink, she said, the pain was worth it.

And it solidified her decision to go through with the Miss Kaysville-Fruit Heights pageant.

"It had nothing to do with wanting a crown. It had everything to do with wanting to be a spokesperson, wanting to have some kind of voice," she said.

A week after her surgery, she won by playing her harp and promoting organ donation.

Then a month later, Andy called the transplantation clinic to report he hadn't urinated all day, and he had gained 10 pounds. A biopsy showed part of his new kidney was dead.

"We're sorry, you lost your kidney," Andy recalls being told.

On that morning in September when his kidney was scheduled to be removed, Andy struggled to look at Mallory, knowing how much she wanted to heal him.

But Mallory remained hopeful.

In a turnaround doctors would call "remarkable," Mallory's donated kidney revived.

It was Sept. 11.

This Sunday, he will reflect on the lives lost — and life regained.

"I do come from a very spiritual family," said Andy, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. "The fact that it happened on this day tells us that Heavenly Father wanted to put some joy back into that day for us and make it a day of celebration."

—

'What good has come' •Today,Mallory Wahlstrom Wright sits in her new Provo home, holding her weeks-old daughter, Molly.

Mallory was induced about two weeks early because she developed cholestasis of pregnancy, a buildup of bile in the liver caused by pregnancy hormones. The condition could have killed Molly.

It's hard not to have her grandmother — whom Mallory considered a "best friend" as a child — around to share in this moment. Mary Alice, 78, who lived a block away from Mallory's childhood home, was there for so much. Mallory remembers Mary Alice sitting on the front row, on the edge of her seat, for her granddaughter's harp, piano and dance performances. She was there when Mallory came home from school, cookies or cakes waiting on the kitchen table.

"It's hard to have such a different lifestyle now and have so many things that have happened in my life that she wasn't able to be a part of firsthand," Mallory says. "That will always be hard."

She slips on a watch inherited from her grandmother. The face on the thin, gold band is stopped in time. For Mallory, the stilled watch doesn't represent death, but eternity.

"It's hard not to focus on the loss. But I think with the 10-year anniversary, so much time has passed it does give you a chance to stop and focus on the positive and what good has come."

hmay@sltrib.com