As we pause to remember September 11, I cannot help but think about the time I covered the one year anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil. I remember walking around outside Ground Zero, where flowers and pictures still hung around the wall. There were hundreds of people standing with their own memories, many with their own personal tributes. Some were holding pictures, others read poems, some even sang. It was somber, sad, moving, and quite honestly, depressing. But the most poignant memory was a simple trip to the ladies room. I remember seeing a woman holding a flower, sobbing profusely. Her eyes were red; her body was shaking and her pain clearly visible. I somehow could not stop myself. I reached out and hugged her. Though I was a stranger, she did not recoil. She simply said thank you, and that she missed her mother. I really wanted to have some profound words, a prophetic statement that could ease her time of grief. But I had nothing. All I could say was I'm sorry." Even today, I feel heartache for that crying lady. I've never hungered for power. But at that moment, I desperately wished I had the power to heal sorrow.