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It was September 2002 and my 40th class reunion from Curtis High School, Staten Island. Five of us classmates boarded the Staten Island ferry to pay respects at Ground Zero, before the evening reunion festivities began.
The closer we walked to Ground Zero, the more pensive and quiet our animated chatter became. My hands sweat as I held my breath in anticipation of witnessing the horror of what I'd seen on TV a year prior. A chain link fence separated us from the mammoth construction site that lay in front. Construction workers moved dirt using heavy equipment as if they were building yet another downtown high rise. Only this time, the ground felt sacred. I tried to visualize the World Trade Center that heart-wrenching 9/11 day, where almost 3,000 innocent people were killed. My heart and head just couldn't accept or comprehend such devastation. My emotions were at a loss, frozen.
I looked behind me to the south side of Ground Zero to see a building-size poster that...