While walking my dog this morning, I passed a home that made me stop in my tracks. I stood on the sidewalk looking at a large framed image of the 911 firefighters raising the American flag over the rubble of the twin towers. Someone who lives in this home remembers 911 in a very personal way. I couldn’t help but wonder who they’d lost that day. Was it a friend, family member, co-worker or simply a sense of security? I remember that day well, as every American does. I was living in Indiana at the time and getting my two small children ready for the day. I had the Today show on in the background. I remember the co-anchors reporting a plane hit the first tower and they weren’t sure if it was an accident or something worse. I was watching as the second plane hit tower two. There could be no doubt it was no accident. I ran upstairs to tell my husband that the World Trade Center was under attack. I spent the rest of the day watching every shocking detail. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know how America would respond. I wanted to be reassured that America would rebuild and not let the attack destroy us. I wanted revenge. Today, twelve years later, I want to give the person who lives in this home a hug. I want them to know I have not forgotten.