I was 17 the first time I was in NY. My older brother had been home there for 10 years by that point. It didn't matter what direction I looked: those Towers were always there. My second trip I was in my early 30s, on a bus trip, and it was 2003 or 2004. There was still debris where the Towers once stood. I recall walking through a tunnel with news clippings, pictures of the missing, and notes to those lost on a black painted piece of plywood on one side and glass on the other overlooking Ground Zero. Fast forward a couple years and I was in NY for the thrid time, visiting with my brother. The only sign of what once was embodyed in a bronze statue of the world and a plaque. The true memorial hadn't been started yet. We walked along the Hudson River, in Battery Park, and he pointed out the places of triage he passed that day, and told me how close his office truly was to Ground Zero. In those moments I remembered my fear for the two or three days after the attack: there was no communicaton, so I had no clue if my brother was okay. I was lucky. He was lucky. My heart goes out to those that weren't. Thank you. You've told someone's story in this chapter.