At 9:00pm last night, I arrived at Ground Zero to help prepare for the memorial service marking the 2nd anniversary of the September 11th atrocity. And after a few hours of preparation and logistics, I wrote a column about the déjà vu I was experiencing - and another about how upset I was that I did not have "the big cry" yet, despite the fact that two years had past since the tragedy. To be honest, I got so busy after those two columns were written, and became so wrapped up in my work through the night, that I did not have time to focus on anything else - until 8:46am this morning - when the ceremony began with the first moment of silence signifying the horrible moment when the first plane impacted Tower #1 - instantly ending Doug's glorious life.

At that moment, I made my way to the rail that overlooked the site - and in one instant - it became Tuesday, September 11, 2001. It was suddenly not the 2nd anniversary of the attacks and two years had not passed by - because to me - it was that morning all over again.

I don't know why, but I feel, and have heard many people tell me that they feel that this year's anniversary is harder to get through than last year's for some reason. As I was making my way through the huge crowd of dignitaries just a half hour before the ceremony, I heard a family member of a lost firefighter tell someone that she had an easier time getting through this last year - and she knew that when the ceremony began this year - it was going to be very difficult to keep it together.

She was right.

After the first moment of silence, I began to wander through the crowd of close to one thousand people, consisting of journalists, television producers, city, state and federal officials - and family members - and felt as if the rooftop I was stationed on was as empty as it was at 3:00am this morning, just hours earlier. Name after name after name after name of those we lost that tragic Tuesday was called by children who lost those who gave them life - and after one hour - they were not even one quarter through the list of 2,792 names of those who senselessly lost their lives at that very site just two years earlier.

As I made my way to the FOX News Channel booth, and was able to watch the feed on their monitors, I saw footage of the tens of thousands of family members who came there once again to say goodbye to their mother, father, husband, wife, brother, sister - or best friend. Some were crying, some had completely blank looks on their faces - and some were holding giant pictures of their lost loved ones - with words like, "miss you" and "daddy" and "remember me" written on them. Suddenly, this wave of emotion came over me as if I was caught in a tidal wave of sadness. I saw this same exact scene last year - but did not react this way. But this year - it finally caught up with me.

And then, as two children stood on the podium reading their section of names - I heard it...

"Douglas Jon Farnum."

Instantly, I began to cry and could not stop. I looked around for someone - anyone - that I could hug, get comfort from, or talk to - and there was no one I was close enough to or had a personal relationship with to do so. It was then that I realized that although my tour of duty was not over - I had to leave - now. So I went to my friend who heads the OEM Press Office and told him that I was sorry - but I could no longer be there. He understood and let me go.

I made my way to the TLC office, just two blocks from the sacred site, because people at the office were concerned about me and wanted to see if I was ok. As I made it half way across the West Side Highway, I ran into Bishop Hartman, a true man of God in every sense of the word, and the TLC's Chaplain. Just three days ago, he sent me an e-mail out of nowhere letting me know that I was in his thoughts as the anniversary approached - and told me today that he stayed in my office at the TLC until he heard Doug's name read at the ceremony. As soon as I saw him, I totally broke down. He comforted me and told me that it was ok to release my emotions, and that it was my turn to mourn - and I should do whatever is necessary to release my pain and sorrow. It was at that moment when I realized what I had to do to finally come to grips with all that happened on that tragic Tuesday - I had to go to the bottom of the site and lay a flower for my fallen friend.

I said goodbye and God Bless to Bishop Hartman, went upstairs to the TLC offices and said a brief hello - and made my way to Vessey and West Streets - where I began my long and necessary journey into the site - seven stories down to the very bottom of the 16-acre sacred site.

As I passed through the family members, I saw men, women, children, blacks, whites, Jews, Arabs, and Puerto Ricans. I saw people from every conceivable uniformed service, even some from out of New York City. I saw people comforting people they did not know personally - but knew their pain. I saw volunteers handing out water, Kleenex - and comfort. I saw Priests, Rabbis, Imams, and other members of the clergy standing around just in case someone needed them.

I saw humans.

As I made my way down the ramp, which is a slow and agonizing seven story decent to the very bottom of the site, with only the echo of the endless list of names of fallen victims, the surrounding building and streets - that I could map out with my eyes closed because I have been there so many times - suddenly seemed new and enormous. In the early stages of the period following the attack, the site was still full of debris, wreckage - and lost lives. So going to the bottom of what came to be known as "The Pit" was impossible. But thanks to the tireless efforts of those thousands of people responsible for the cleanup and recovery efforts, families were able to descend to the bottom - and lay a flower in memory of those that never came home.

I do not know how long it took me to get down the ramp - but it seemed like a month. And when I finally made it down - and realized the Holy ground I was treading on - the attacks of September the 11th took on an entirely new prospective. Here I was standing on soil that at one time blossomed two monolithic symbols of the world's economic freedom, individual expression - and selfless equality. On this very ground stood two decadent symbols of what "Land of the Free and Home of the Brave" truly meant - and here was a place that now held the souls of 2,792 innocent people from over 90 countries who simply chose this site as the place to begin to grow their version not of the American Dream - but the human dream.

I made my way to the ring where the flowers were laid, and when I got there, I kneeled and laid my flower for Doug. I then prayed that he was at peace - and asked God to watch over him and his family. I then told Doug how sorry I was that senseless jealousy and a lack of understanding of other people's cultures and beliefs led to his untimely demise. Then, I made the sign of the cross - and gave the countless others behind me the chance to do the same.

Before I made my way back up the ramp, I decided to stay a while and absorb this surreal moment. I did have my camera with me - but instantly chose not to take a single photo - because it was inappropriate - and because the images I was seeing around me were being recorded into my head as clearly as those that brought us all there in the first place. Instead, I sat on the sacred ground, closed my eyes - and placed my open hand on the ground before me. In the time that followed - which, to be honest, is unknown to me - the reading of names, music, sounds of other mourners and plain, white noise disappeared - and I felt the power of the place I was and the presence of all of the people that called this site their final resting place. It felt like I grabbed a live electrical wire and felt a surge of electricity run through my body that was so powerful that it rendered me unable to stop it. And I felt the true pain and suffering of all of those people whose life ended here so suddenly - and so tragically.

It was when I opened my eyes that I realized what a truly powerful experience I had - because for a very brief moment - I forgot where I was and had a "where am I?" kind of feeling. I then got up, wrote Doug Farnum's name in the sacred soil - and made my way back up the ramp to street level, constantly looking back at the site - and the experience that I just came from.

I can not describe how it felt going through the surge and rush of emotions that I went through today, but I will say that while it helped me release some of my pain and suffering - it certainly did not help me "get over" September 11th - because that is an impossibility. What today's journey did do was make me appreciate what a truly life-altering day that Tuesday was, make me see that so many people share the same connection of tragedy, sorrow and loss as I do - and make me understand how very hard it is to say goodbye to someone that you care for so very much.