As soon as I did she put her hands to her face, she said something but her hands muffled her voice. “What?” “He left me!” she cried befor... latching back onto me. “Eve I’m so sorry.” I soothed, letting her cry herself out as I gently rocked her back and forth. It was a long time before she calmed down enough to pull away. She turned her back and made a futile effort to straighten her clothes and fix her hair. “I’m sorry, I-I just…” she sniffed. I put a hand on her shoulder and gave it. One year ago today, the comfortable, if often imperfect world we knew ground to a screeching halt. How does one handle being thrust into a new and much more frightening life so abruptly? For those of us that escaped the horror without personal loss, is our grief and anger any less than the surviving families and friends and co-workers who lost someone? Does our outrage and sorrow belittle theirs? Why, exactly do we grieve? Besides empathizing with our fellow man’s pain, we weep for ourselves,. More

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