It's two years today, and J still talks about you. "Mom, remember when the planes crashed into the buildings? They killed my Suzanne." Sometimes, he thinks he sees you: "I saw Suzanne sitting in a big car today, mom." (Are you, by any chance, cruising around the neighborhood in a big car from time to time?)

In the weeks after you died, I ran to the peephole every time I heard the elevator doors open; I thought it was entirely possible--likely, even--that you would climb out of the rubble, not only alive but relatively unscathed. One day I ran to look, and your mother and sisters were arriving to collect your belongings. But sometimes I still look, just in case.

I don't want to be maudlin. I just want to say that we miss you. We think of you often, and with great fondness.

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