Watching the second jet hit the Tower, knowing that it was a savage, deliberate attack, kindled a fire in me that has not banked one bit.
My sister-in-law's father, Joe, was a New York City Fire Captain who retired a month before the attacks. His Station was the Twin Towers Station. Every one of his firefighters, every one, ran into those buildings with no hesitation. They did their best to save others. They all died.
I think of Joe. He is wracked by guilt, guilt that he didn't do enough. That, if he had stayed on just a little bit longer, that things could somehow have been different. That, had he been there, he would have been with his brothers and sharing the danger with them. He is haunted in a way that I can grasp intellectually, but never fully understand.