Like many of us, Bill Lyman watched his television in horror as United Flight 175 slammed into Two World Trade Centers. But for Bill, the attack was personal. Those were his friends and colleagues staring in despair out of their 104th-floor windows at the flames licking upward, cutting them off from escape.

　　Bill, a managing director of an investment-banking firm, had overslept the morning of September 11. The cries of his grandson had kept the 56-year-old awake into the early hours. He was headed for work at 8:50 a.m. when his brother called and told him to turn on the television, where he learned of the first attack.

　　Bill immediately called the office, and two colleagues advised him to stay home, as commuter trains were stalled. "It's chaos here," one said. "Don't even bother trying to come in today."

　　Less than an hour later, the two co-workers drowned in an avalanche of steel and concrete.

　　"It was like special effects out of some horrible movie," Bill sighs, months later, still choking back tears at the raw memory. "I just watched all those people die."

　　One-third of the firm's employees perished that morning, some of whom Bill had known for 17 years. He had passed hours on the road with others, discussing family and spinning dreams. "I spent some extraordinary personal time with these guys. It was like losing 8 or 10 brothers," Bill explains.

　　I should have been there to pray with them, he remembers thinking. I should have been there and I wasn't.

　　"It wasn't guilt," he says now. "It was just that I needed to be there to help. I remember my son saying, 'Dad, there isn't one of those people who would have wanted you there to die with them. And you have to hang on to that. Take it easy Dad, breathe.' He said I wasn't breathing. I don't doubt that. I don't remember breathing for the whole day. "

　　"I really can't describe the grief," Bill continues. "To lose 66 people at once is numbing. I went to 14 funerals in three weeks. That's probably more than you go to in a lifetime."

　　As he watched the terror unfold on TV that morning and mourned the certain death of his co-workers, friends elsewhere were grieving about Bill. Because he was expected to be at work on September 11, his name wasn't printed in the initial survivors list.

　　Friends and colleagues, some of whom Bill hadn't talked to in years, called his house from all over the world, not knowing if they'd find him dead or alive. Relieved, they seized the opportunity to express what he meant to them.

　　"It was a little bit like going to your own wake," Bill recalls. One man called twice, saying, "I know you're OK. I just need to hear your voice."

　　Just as others were grateful to express their love, Bill is thankful that over the years, he had been able to talk with many of his colleagues about the important things in life. For Bill——an "older brother" to many of the salespeople he trained——that included offering advice on raising children and maintaining a strong marriage.

　　"This tremendous outpouring of love and care was humbling beyond words," he says. "It taught me not to leave anything unsaid with anybody. Within my family, we all love each other and we know it. But there are some friends that I haven't said that to. And I need to make sure that happens."

　　For Bill, "leaving nothing unspoken" includes prayer. As people around him cope by "working harder and staying focused," Bill feels buoyed by the prayers of friends and strangers. "If I had had to do this on my own, I can't imagine surviving it."

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