… As if I don't remember the moment I finally knew that my father was never coming home. Or I don't remember the sound of my sister's cries down the hall when that moment came for her. Or the day we told my grandparents that there was no one left to be rescued, that their son was somewhere in that pile of rubble and yet he wasn't there at all. The terrible sound of my grandfather's voice as he sobbed, "My baby. My baby" about his 52-year-old son. The wordless wails my grandmother made as she lay on my sister's...