Today was a good day. I've been having a lot of good days.

Tonight I went for drinks with Friend. I started talking about the last week or so, catching up.

As I was talking it all kind of came back and hit me.

I haven't talked about what happened over the last 4 weeks. I've written about them, but I haven't spoken about them, outloud.

It's different to speak it. It's emotional. I never realized this, because when I tried to talk about it before, people changed the subject.

It's hard to find people with whom you want to talk about what happened and who will let you.

My family doesn't want to talk about it. They'd rather speak about more pleasant things. I understand, because this is how my family is. My parents have both suffered major losses and didn't talk about it. We all just carried on. We buried family and made arrangements. That's how it is. Maybe they talked to each other. I never even thought about it until now.

I can't talk to friends who've also been affected by it about it because each of them is on their own grief schedule.

And there are the other New York friends who either didn't lose anyone so I don't want to talk to them about it, or the ones who are still working through other mental issues resulting from the tragedy.

So, I've just kept my mouth shut. Until tonight. When I spoke about my dream, it made my lip quiver a bit and made me tear to speak aloud this message I got to keep going. To let all those who perished rest in peace and carry on their wish for me to keep going.

I found myself talking, emotionally, about this girl and as I spoke I could see her and hear her pain as it was that day.

My God. What became of that girl? She must have been only 23 or 24, just a tiny whip of a girl, with a full face of make-up that morning at 4:30AM on 9/12 when we met her outside of NYU Medical Center.

She was searching for her older sister, and had been since she heard about the attack at 9am on 9/11. She, like us, had a legion of friends helping, planting them at hospitals to wait for updated lists as she acted as the floater, moving from one to the next to check with each of them.

She was from a large family, but they lived somewhere that they had to fly here, so in the first days, she was left to search without them and report back to the family.

We when met her, she was so cocky about her sister being alive. She was a bundle of tightly wound energy, and like me, whenever someone tried to touch her, she moved away. I remember that feeling, thinking, "Don't touch me or you will break this wall it's been so hard to build." She must have thought that too.

When she heard that we were at this make-shift morgue because the medical examiner had called us, she used that to make herself feel better. "Well, I didn't get called," she said, "so I shouldn't be here. My sister is alive. It's wrong for me to be here. It feels wrong. I'm leaving," she said to us.

She made us feel like shit, like she had hope and we didn't, but we knew this was her grief talking.

And then she returned around 6AM, looking more tired than before. We smiled and welcomed her back. I asked her why she came back and she said, "While I'm here, I may as well check it out."

She made a scene, as they kept us out in the cold for another hour while they set up.

And then we sat in that tiny auditorium. Just about 15 of us, spread out in two rows. My roommate and I purposely sat away from the girl, because we knew she was a wildcard and we were coming to terms with the reality, as the sun dawned.

She sat, in the row behind me and 8 seats down with her friend. I could hear her bitching. "Why are we here? Do you have a new list? When is the list being updated?"

I remember staring ahead, at the wood paneled walls and stage in front of me listening to her.

I remember. Clearly, as if it's happening right this moment, hearing her high pitched wail...my GOD...that wailing...and I didn't even have to turn my head as she broke right there with us, I knew it was her.

The baby hairs on my skin all over my body stood straight up at the sound. I had the chills.

I remember hot tears sliding down my cheeks as my heart broke for her...for me...for my friend...for all those I was looking for...for the world...for this city...for these strangers in this room who looked as scared shitless as I felt.

I remembered tonight for the first time, that when I was finally able to turn my head to look at her, I saw that she had crumbled down, slid down in this seat and to the floor. She laid on the floor to my right a row behind me in the fetal position and she screamed at the top of her little lungs for her big sister, and my body shook with sobs, as I watched Red Cross workers kneeling over her, stroking her, whispering some soft words as she seemed to be weathering this kind of pain I had never known humans could endure and survive.

As long as I live, I don't think I will ever forget that sound.

We saw her twice after that, my roommate tells me, but I can only remember seeing her once. At the Armory. She was so happy to see us and vice versa.

I never saw her beyond Day 4, although I was searching through Day 7.

I wonder what happened to that girl. I would like to find her and see how she is doing. I would like to know if she received any news. I would like to know if there was a service for her sister.

I hope that she has the strength to keep going. I would like to share with her what has happened to me since we last spoke, what it was like, how work has been, what I think happened in those last moments before the towers fell.

There are others from those early days that I think about. I have a file with the faces of their loved ones, who we added to our list to check hour to hour, each day, and they did the same.

I think about the guys looking for their buddy who worked at the same company as my friend's husband. I saw in the paper one day that he was identified as deceased, so we took him off our list. I think about his wife that they told us about, who was home in NJ with their kids. I wonder what she told those kids. I wonder if she still wears her wedding ring. I wonder if she wishes she came in the City and did the legwork herself. I wonder if she would feel better knowing that we were checking for her husband also.

I think about the two guys who were looking for their roommate. The guy who had actually called and left a message on 9/13. I wonder if they got a body. I wonder when they gave up their search. I wonder how long they kept checking for our guys. I wonder what they are doing about their apartment.

These are the people who lived this nightmare with us. Talking to them, taking their information, sharing stories and information made it all so much more real.

I feel compelled to see them, one last time, and finish this chapter. To know once and for all that they are moving on too. To hear that it hasn't been easy for them either, to do this.

I want to know that they are ok and moving forward.

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