I will always be a New Yorker at heart, as much as I love my adopted home in Kansas. When I lived in the city and went to school at NYU in Greenwich Village in the late ’60s, I watched the progress on the construction of the Twin Towers. Over the years I had visited them many times, took pictures from the observation deck, had dinner at Windows On The World, and knew people with offices there.

In August last year, my family and I were in the city and spent a day downtown near my alma mater. From almost any vantage point facing in their direction, the towers could be seen. On Sept. 11, I felt the magnitude of their destruction and the loss of life immediately. The feeling that my home had been attacked was profound, and my concern for friends and relatives back there was not alleviated for several days after.

Two of my sisters, who live in suburban communities on Long Island and in Westchester County, were reminded for many months by the memorial services for victims who lived in their towns. Both of them continue to be active in various ways volunteering time and energy to victims’ causes, particularly to those for families of firemen.

Our father was a fireman in the Bronx from 1935 to 1968. When I was a kid he was driving the “tiller” at the tail end of the hook and ladder truck. Even though our time spent as children at the firehouse was a long time ago, we felt the loss of the 343 of New York’s Bravest, as though our Dad was still “on the job.” The mourning for them and all the victims is not over. For us, it’s not a matter of “out of sight, out of mind.” Thank you for helping to remind your readers of that traumatic day.

Martin L. Miller, Lawrence