The September 11, 2001 attacks killed 2,977 people, resulting in the largest loss of life caused by a foreign attack on American soil. Twenty-five years later, Guardian readers who lost friends and loved ones are continuing to honor their memories through stories about their lives, relationships and the moments they shared.Christopher Allen, 69, a retired estate manager from Niantic, Connecticut, remembers Jeremy “Caz” Carrington.Allen said he and his wife, Kim, met Carrington at the now-closed Santa Fe Junction bar and restaurant in East Hampton, New York. The men bonded as fellow British expatriates, talking about soccer, darts and London.“He was a portly sort of guy but moved quick, thought even quicker and was generally the life and soul of the party,” Allen said. Carrington worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, a firm which lost more people on 9/11 than any other organization.Six months after the attacks, Allen attended a celebration of Carrington’s life in East Hampton. Family members came from the UK, and friends and relatives shared stories about him.“The Celebration of Life service was not traditional or mournful; it was hilarious,” Allen said. “He really did live life to the fullest and we were all very grateful to have known him.”At the gathering, Allen met Carrington’s mother, Kate, and discovered she had been his primary school teacher years earlier, when he knew her as Ms Ross. They stayed in touch, exchanging jokes and gardening ideas until her death. In Allen’s words, he is in awe that such “a wonderful friendship started from such a horrific tragedy.”For Cheryl Ann of Santa Monica, California, the person she lost was a friend named Caroline, whom she described as a successful Disney executive and a mentor.Cheryl, who had pursued photography after moving from New Jersey to Los Angeles, said Caroline admired her work and treated her as an equal while she was working as an executive assistant.“We became personal friends and she invited me into her home and her life,” Cheryl said. “With genuine enthusiasm she offered to mentor me.”On September 11, Cheryl woke to messages telling her to turn on CNN. She had friends, godchildren, business associates and other loved ones in the region and feared for people she could not reach by phone.“I didn’t sleep; I could barely eat; life as I knew it was over,” she said.Later, Cheryl saw her friend Caroline’s name on a passenger list shown on the news. She initially hoped it was someone else with the same name, but a mutual friend confirmed it was the Caroline they knew.“It annihilated me. I don’t know any other way to express the depth of the pain of the loss. She had a beautiful light that lit up any room she entered,” Cheryl said. “She literally glowed, as beautiful on the outside as on the inside.”Steve S, whose name was changed for privacy, remembers John P Sammartino as one of his best friends.The two met at university, Steve said, and Sammartino later served as best man at his wedding. Though their careers caused them to drift apart, they continued getting together to watch football matches and make homemade beer with college friends.Steve was involved in computer-related cleanup work at the Pentagon after the attacks. Late on 12 September, he said, his then-wife called to tell him Sammartino had been on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon.“I was crushed,” Steve said. “From feeling lucky that I wasn’t directly affected to being involved changed my outlook on 9/11.”Years later, Steve continues to visit his friend’s grave. Sammartino had been an electrical engineer, and Steve sometimes thinks about the advances his friend never saw. “He’d get a kick out of modern cell phone technology,” he said.Alison K, whose name was also changed for privacy, is a 47-year-old artist who said that her life was changed by a man she never actually spoke to. In 2000, she moved to New York City to pursue a master’s degree. On her way to class, she would pass a small fire station where “there was often a firefighter out front washing down a truck, chatting with his co-workers. He had a big bushy moustache and his arms were covered with tattoos.”The two would exchange smiles and waves, and his friendly demeanor helped bring her comfort as a young student in a strange new city. Weeks after the attacks, classes resumed and she passed by the fire station again, where she saw a paper taped to the station door.“It was my fireman, whose name had been Manny Mojica, and who was killed when responding to the tower emergency,” she said. “I think of him every year, and this past Christmas I was back in NYC for the first time in 15 years. I made a visit to the memorial and found his name on the plaque and silently thanked him for his welcoming smile and his service.”Songwriter Larry Dvoskin remembers Patrick “Paddy” Brown, a friend from Jivamukti Yoga classes who was a former Marine and a captain with the New York City fire department’s Ladder 3 company.Patrick Paddy Brown, a former Marine and captain of the New York City fire department. Photograph: Courtesy Larry Dvoskin“He was truly a ‘man’s man’ long before the current craze of the manosphere,” Dvoskin said. “Instead, he was thoughtful, humble, and I found it humorous seeing him in spandex tights in my yoga classes.”Dvoskin said that at Brown’s funeral at St Patrick’s cathedral, he heard an account of Brown heading toward the second tower as it burned. Firefighters leaving the building warned him not to enter because it was too dangerous.Brown replied: “Are you fucking crazy? It’s my job to go in there!”Brown and his team then entered the building.“Those were the last words he is remembered by,” Dvoskin said. “‘It’s my job to go in there.’”