H’s agenda included a trip to Central Park, where I discovered I was not designed for ice skating. Clinging to the rinks wall with legs a kimbo and little chance of standing, much less moving, H’s beaming words of encouragement as she glided past fell on icy ground. With 911 still hanging like a heavy cloud, our trip to Ellis Island left us only able to stare up to face of the Statue of Liberty and the place we would have gone had security allowed.
Shuffling with the crowd we moved slowly down the gallery of lost faces on the white temporary boarding looking out beyond the place the Twin Towers had stood. So much had been lost, but the sorrow for me was compounded inconsolably by the destroyed church that no one ever mentions. Peering into the hole in the ground I watched the men working rebuilding the subway pondering on the plans for the site, hoping it wouldn’t be another tower.