I remember that morning, September 11, 2001. Brother was but a toddler, barely a year and a half. We got up and I began to make breakfast for us. Brother usually liked to watch Calliou, but for some reason, wasn't interested that morning. I flipped over to the news to see the first tower smoking while Charlie Gibson described what had happened. Just moments later, before I could even turn away, the second plane hit.

Tonight I watched a documentary about September 11 and the NYFD. I saw footage from a man in the midst of it all when the towers collapsed. I saw a storm of dust and debris and paper. Papers blew up against the lens of his video camera and stuck, flapping in the aftermath. Papers that had been sitting on desks not long before. Papers that belonged somewhere and had seemed so very important to the comings and goings of the day.

Story after story of brave men who plunged deep into the throes of danger. Men who didn't come out. One firefighter said, "You could have told us it was a nuclear bomb that went off. We still would have gone in." They went back in, day after day, sacrificing health, safety and sanity all in very dim hopes of finding someone...anyone.

To those men and their families, I salute you.

We will never forget.