They call it "the site", as if we were about to visit a home under construction. However, for everyone who goes there, it is clear that "the site" is a place of stunning greatness. Yes, the sinister presence that brought our nation to its knees on that beautiful September morning is still very much a part of the landscape. Nonetheless, if one looks closely it is possible to see evidence of the love that is steadily but stubbornly replacing the darkness and in so doing, creating an uneasy alliance between the great sorrow that remains and the great dignity still to come. As we stood in awe of these brave souls, humbled by their strong resolve to carry on, there was no doubt we were in the presence of great strength. When we heard the stories of firemen who refused to leave the burning towers, we knew we were in the presence of great courage. And as with all things great, we found humility in these policemen and firemen, these soldiers of the front-line who do not consider what they are doing as anything but duty.

I wrote those words in December of 2001, shortly after our family's return from Ground Zero. Today, as I face another anniversary, what I saw there, who I met there; the names, faces, the brave smiles, firm handshakes and the tears, are emblazoned in my memory as if no time has passed at all. Forgetting is proving to be as difficult as believing that the 9/11 attack really happened. Forgetting is proving to be impossible, my grief still palpable.

In May of 2001, we returned to New York City and to the friends we had met in December. Ground Zero had become "The Pit" and the workers were just a few short weeks away from completing their monumental task. The streets were accessible; department stores, pubs and restaurants were open once again and people were hustling about their daily activities. It all seemed so normal until I looked toward where the towers once stood and realized, again, that normal is a subjective term.

While we were visiting with a NYPD Captain of the Office of Emergency Management, people from the New York Historical Society came to him with a story about a bike. This bike was found chained to a light post at the corner of Vesey and Church and had apparently been there since September 11th. No one knew to whom the bike belonged but everyone assumed the bike lost its owner on that day. The historical society was requesting that the Captain allow them to remove the bike so it could be stored in a safe place as it awaited its

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