OKLAHOMA CITY (AP) — Not all of those who were injured or lost loved ones in the Oklahoma City bombing will wake before dawn on May 16 to watch Timothy McVeigh die.

Athena Roy will kneel in church to pray for the man who murdered her mother.

Rob Roddy, a survivor of the Oklahoma City bombing, will get ready for work the same as he does every weekday.

Deloris Watson will take her scarred grandson to a park, where they will eat ice cream straight out of the carton and study the clouds.

They are victims of the April 19, 1995, blast who think it is easier to heal if they try to go on with the lives they had before McVeigh parked a truck bomb in front of the federal building and killed 168 people.

They don't attend every anniversary ceremony or volunteer at the memorial site, telling their stories to tourists from all over the world. They don't like to talk to reporters.

"You can never forget it, but you move on," says LaVerne McCloud, whose 10-year-old daughter, Nekia, was injured in the Alfred P. Murrah Building day-care center. McCloud rarely goes to the memorial.

Nearly 300 people have told the government they want to watch McVeigh's execution. To accommodate them, Attorney General John Ashcroft has agreed to the largest closed-circuit TV broadcast of an execution in U.S. history.

Roy gets angry when she hears someone say bombing survivors and victims' families want to watch McVeigh die. She doesn't want to see it.

"We're not all the same person," says Roy, whose mother worked n the U.S. Housing and Urban Development office. "Some of us don't need to go out and get the support of the public. I can keep that to myself."

Roy, who is Roman Catholic, believes the death penalty is wrong. She says McVeigh's execution will not help her family heal.

Roy, who was 22 when her mother, Diane Hollingsworth Althouse, was killed, says it is time other people stop dwelling on the bombing. She worries that some bombing survivors and victims' families are downplaying other people's losses.

"There are people that die every day in tragedies," she says. "There are all kinds of horrific things that have been happening everywhere."

Roddy, one of the few who walked out of the federal building without a scratch, will not do anything out of the ordinary on McVeigh's execution day. He hopes other bombing survivors do the same, leaving the metal folding chairs facing the execution viewing screen empty.

"Boycotting it would be a much stronger statement they could send him," he says. "I wish they would realize that."

Roddy did not support capital punishment before the bombing and still doesn't. He thought for the first couple of months after the blast that maybe McVeigh could be an exception.

"After the shock wore off, I came to my senses," he says. "I started realizing that it was so self-serving of me. I could never begin to forgive McVeigh, but I don't want him killed."

Dennis Hodges, who lost a sister, a great-niece and a great-nephew in the bombing, has kept to himself so much in the past six years that he is not on a U.S. Attorney's list of bombing victims' relatives. That means he cannot attend the closed-circuit broadcast, even though he has tried to register.

Hodges and his family plan to spend May 16 carrying on with their daily lives. They will turn on the news, waiting for word McVeigh will no longer disrupt their days by spewing his views in the media.

Watson will try not to think of McVeigh on his execution day. She will spend it with her grandson P.J. Allen, who breathes through a tube in his throat and has two bare spots on his scalp where rocks lodged in his head.

P.J. is one of six children who survived in the day-care center on the second floor of the federal building.

His grandmother recalls a day not long ago when she had a headache. The 7-year-old boy kept asking her to help him pick out shapes in the clouds, but she wouldn't open her eyes.

"You know why your head hurts? You're not looking at the clouds," he said.

That's what they will do on May 16.

"I am going to take P.J. and make sure he has one of the most fun-filled days ever — a celebration of life," Watson says. "We're going to spend some time looking at the clouds."