I watched my mother's hand race back and forth. She quickly filled the paper, moving on to the next. She was writing a letter to my dad. That's what she always did.

My name is Emily. Emily Helen Craig Hawkins. My mom is Ally Craig. She was only 22 when she had me. Her and my father never got married, because he died in 9-11. My mom never got over him.

I heard automated the man's voice. "Mom," I said in a calm tone. She ignored me. "MOM!" I said a bit louder as I poked her knee. She looked up at me with frightened eyes. Oh, when my mom was a little younger then me, her mom was killed on the subway with her there, and now every time I try to get her attention, she thinks someone is going to kill us. "We're gonna miss our stop."

"Oh, yeah." She started as she put her book into her bag. "We're going to the museum. Sorry.." She paused for a second. "I was writing to you're father." I looked down. I thought about him all the time, but talking about him, killed me.

My Aunt Caroline once asked me, "If you knew you're father could hear you, what would you say." When she asked me I was ten, it was the anniversary of his death. I answered, "I don't know." It was a lie, because I did know. I still do.

Even after 3 years, my answer hasn't changed. Dad. Is it possible to love someone you never knew, to miss them more then anything else? If so, I love you, I miss you.

I wrote that down on my notebook one day, and one of my friends saw it.

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing, just thinking on paper."

"You mean you're notebook cover?" We both laughed.

"Yeah, I guess"

My flash back returned to the present.

"Emily. EMILY!" My mom was yelling. I shook my head and looked at her with tears in my eyes. I gave her a big hug, "Mom, I miss him. Why did they have to pick grandpa's building? Why that day?"

She didn't loosen her grip, "I don't know sweetie." She pulled away so she could look into my teary eyes. "Don't cry, I know you miss him. I do to, and I only wish he was her to see how you similar you to are. And-"

I looked down and I chuckled. When I looked up my mom looked a mix between sad and confused. "What?"

I looked down at my feet. "Mom. You say this every time I cry about him. Really you need new material." I looked up with a smile.

My mom laughed, "You smirk like you're father."

My smile faded and I hugged her again. I looked around and was glad we lived in NYC, anywhere else we would have looked like a couple of idiots crying about their problem in public, but in NY no one pays attention.

"Let's go mom. If we leave now, we might make it today." We walked up the stairs in to the large, crowded city. The soothing traffic eased my mind.

Dad. Is it possible to love someone you never knew, to miss them more then anything else? If so, I love you, I miss you. Daddy, We will always remember you.