I remember hope.

It was spring 2003 and cold.

I remember how Amy cried while she wrote a note on the makeshift construction wall above Ground Zero.

I remember how others stopped quietly at the wall, tilting their heads to read, some adding their own notes.

I remember the signs, candles and flowers along the metal fencing.

I remember watching the construction crews work below in the footprint pits where thousands perished.

I remember children watching along with me.

I remember Amy reading the wall, placing her palm on it as if feeling for a heartbeat.

I remember the shadow ash that laced the buildings facing the emptiness within.

I remember how blue the sky was, just as it was a year and a half earlier.

I remember someone praying next to me, how it made me cry.

I remember when we left, we didn't speak.

I remember we held hands.

I remember hope.