Never forget those who died in vain so that we could live in freedom. Such was the inscription that I left (and then signed my name) on the World Trade Center viewing platform, adding mine to the thousands already there. It's really hard for me to describe it, especially since they've done an extensive amount of cleaning to the point where the debris is almost all gone. But the one thing that struck me the most was the lack of something being there. It's in the middle of the financial district, surrounded by all these tall buildings... and there's this hole. This spot where you know two huge-ass buildings used to be, yet now looks like the site where they've cleared out land in order to build a new Wendy's or something. It's just... empty. Mom and I got up gawdawfully early to catch the ferry to Long Island, then I drove to the cemetery where we saw our relatives. I was glad that I had gone with her because she started to break down a little when she talked about her parents. After we cleaned up, we partook of our family's claim to fame: our cemetery plot is next to that of Julius & Ethel Rosenberg, the famous spies who were executed in the 1950s for selling secrets to the Russians, so we walked over to say hi. Then into the city, where we also took a detour into Queens to see the house she grew up in.

The wait on the WTC tickets was negligible, so we were able to have lunch and get out of the city fairly quickly to beat most of rush hour. It's a little odd to think that even though my mom is a New Yorker, born and raised, she's been out of the city longer than she was a resident of it. Things have changed a fair amount since she really spent time there as I had to explain to her how to use the new MetroCard system they've got now for the subways.

Personally, I'm exhausted and my work has barely begun. I have to start packing tonight and need to finish tomorrow so I can ship off all my stuff before I leave on Sunday. It doesn't seem real.