As I looked at her sleeping in her own bed this time, next to our loyal little yorkie, I remembered one of the books I literally read in one day and brought tears in eyes.

“When I am alone in my apartment these days, not often, but sometimes, I will say softly out loud, “Mommy!” And I don’t know what it is – if I am calling for my own mother, or if I am hearing Becka’s (daughter) cry to me that day when she saw the second plane go into the second tower. Both I think.
But this is my story. This one. And my name is Lucy Barton.”


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