"Can I see the Statue of Liberty?" my son Kieran asked me. We were back in New Jersey for a visit with the family and for a surprise birthday party. Apparently my father had been telling his grandson about Miss Liberty while my wife and I were out doing a quick shopping trip. It was on our way to the hotel where we were staying that Kieran made his request.

It was late, but not that late, I decided, although it had been a long day and I expected that my son would probably be out before we got there. I looked at Rosemary and said, "What do you think?"

"You've been driving all day, so you're the one who's tired. So it's up to you."

I thought a little bit about how I could get close to the Statue. It would be up the Turnpike Extension, of course, out over Newark Bay, and then toward my boyhood home of Jersey City, with the New York Skyline in the background…

Oh.

The skyline.

The one that had been permanently scarred on September 11, 2001.

I had been back to New Jersey since then, but had elected to not get very close.

I wasn't at all sure I was ready to be within sight of Ground Zero.

Not at all.

I had avoided looking on my return visits since 9/11. I'd taken the Western Spur of the Turnpike… farther away from Manhattan. I'd rerouted trips to keep myself out of viewing distance. I'd even tried to sit in aisle seats on planes so I wouldn't be able to see out the window.

I knew I wasn't taking it well.

I always knew that when I could not cry over something, I wasn't doing well.

But I wanted to make a five year old happy, and that was, for the moment, more important.

"Okay, Kieran, we will go to see the Statue of Liberty, but you have to promise me that you will stay awake."

"Yippee!" Kieran exclaimed. "I promise!"

He was, as you might expect, out before we got to Elizabeth. His sister Thalia conked out soon after that, as we passed alongside Newark Airport.

"What do you want to do now?" my wife asked.

"Keep going, we're this far. I could always wake them up."

We arrived at Exit 14B on the Turnpike at just before 10 PM. Liberty State Park was closed, and gates locked tight well out of reach of anywhere near a view of the monument. I knew enough about this part of Jersey City to be dangerous, and to know that it could be dangerous. But there seemed to be enough cars around to seem reasonably safe. They were heading southbound along Burma Road, so I figured that there had to be a through route from which they were coming. I went north and turned into the industrial park that had been built on the old railroad yards. There I found a somewhat decent view of Miss Liberty, framed by trees at the end of a cul-de-sac. It would have made a nice picture if I'd had a camera. I tried to ignore the fact that there used to be two tall buildings in view just back and to the left of the statue. It was getting more difficult to do so.

I unbuckled and picked a very sleepy Kieran up out of the car seat, softly saying to him, "We're here! Here is the Statue of Liberty."

He awakened long enough to rub his eyes, see the lady with the torch off in the distance, and declare, "I'm tired."

"I know, cub. I'll put you back in the car now. But you have seen the Statue of Liberty now."

"Okay."

I loaded him back in and secured his car seat, and drove back out of the industrial park. I had observed a stupendous traffic jam going southbound on the Turnpike Extension, caused by road construction on the Newark Bay Bridge, so I knew I would have to head further north and pick up the Pulaski Skyway to head back to the hotel. That would generally mean heading back to downtown, my part of town. I certainly knew it well.

And I also knew that I could do what I thought I would have to do, sooner or later. Even my New York City-based friends were telling me that I was going to have to get over it at some point, and go on. Maybe this would be the opportunity.

Near the ends of Montgomery Street, and what is now called Christopher Columbus Boulevard, but used to be Railroad Avenue, is a location called Exchange Place. It is best known as a stop on the PATH train, or the "Tubes" from its original name of "Hudson Tubes." But it's also adjacent to the former site of the once-sprawling Colgate's plant. The only thing left of that plant is one building and one very large Colgate Clock, which sits just off the shore of the Hudson River and tells Manhattan what time it is. Various governmental authorities had done well in putting a small urban park along the shore as well, and I had visited often before moving out of the area. It had been a source of solace for me; I could stand in my hometown and look across at that big, seemingly permanent city and especially those two striking 110 story buildings and feel better somehow. I wondered how I would feel this time as I drove over.

As usual, it took a while to find a legal parking space. It got tougher every trip, and with the coming of the light rail to the neighborhood, it got even more difficult. I eventually lucked into a spot right next to the riverside walk.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Rosemary said. I hadn't told her what I was doing, but she knew.

"No, I need to do this alone." When the first plane had hit the World Trade Center, I was buried in an analysis and I had no idea what had happened. My wife was at the dentist with the two kids; she called me from there to tell me what she had heard on the radio. By the time she returned, both towers had fallen and I had seen the end of the World Trade Center on television, alone. So I felt I needed to see the aftermath alone as well. I was the one who had lost former clients and friends who didn't make it out, she wasn't.

"And besides, you need to watch the kids."

"Yes, you're right."

I carefully walked out to the railing that stood between me and a drop into the Hudson, leaned on it, and looked out. There it was, or, actually, was not. The gaping hole in the skyline. It had been written about, photographed, grieved over for almost a year.

And now it was my turn.

It wasn't that I was oblivious to what had happened. No, there had been plenty of times when I would be reminded of the events of September 11, and I would unnaturally stop what I was doing, and be dazed for a little while. I had learned to quickly change the channel when a story about it started. I never, ever wanted to see the video of the buildings collapsing again.

But now I was looking right over the water at Ground Zero.

And I remembered that many years before, in fact, well before I met my wife, and took her up to the top of the Trade Center on a date, I had shot a video for a club I belonged to, with the Twin Towers as the backdrop. It was an advertisement for the "Explore New York with George" day in the city I was coordinating. I had shot the video to show at the following club meeting because I would be out of town. Little did I know that one day… one day…

That was enough. I finally started to cry.

But then… laughter.

Not from me.

But from not far away. There were two young couples, whom I had not noticed before, talking and laughing, and enjoying the company. They were speaking in something other than English; Jersey City had always been an ethnic city so that was not unusual. But they were enjoying themselves. So were others, talking and walking and being together, being friends, being lovers, perhaps. Enjoying each other.

And enjoying the view. As torn and scarred as it was, they were enjoying it.

The Staten Island Ferry came into view from the southeast, headed toward the Battery. The Battery itself was awash in light, and so, I admitted to myself, was the entire city.

Life was going on. That was what this observation taught me.

I would not dare to call what happened that night "closure".

But I would call it a bit of healing.