Most people tend to take things for granted. I know I do, but not my friend Henry. Henry lost his dad on 9/11. He was at work on one of the top floors when the north tower collapsed. Henry was 4 years old, and his sister was only 2 at the time. He does not remember his dad kissing him in his sleep before he left for work that day– he left the house at 5:30 a.m., and often came home after Henry was asleep. Henry often says he wonders how kids whose dads are fireman and policeman say goodbye every time they leave for work, not knowing if they will make it home that night. Who knew it could happen to an investment banker?

So, Henry takes nothing for granted. He gets up every day and embraces life– even if it is cold and raining, he knows it's sunny somewhere. Even if someone steals his jacket off the back of his chair at the coffee house when he’s getting a refill, he'll tell me, “it’s okay, someone else needs it more than me." He is kinder and gentler with people than most, and has infinite patience. I think I would be angry that lunatic terrorists had robbed me of my father, but Henry only holds life more precious and endearing. He stops and smells the flowers and you know what? He encourages me to do it, too. He spends a lot of time with his baby sister, who is not so little any more– she is 15 and a handful, but he tries to help his mom and support her as much as he can.

I once asked him, "How long do you think you can keep this up? You have to get sad sometime.” He told me he does get sad, and sometimes angry that his sister will never know her father– but he stops himself, and remembers we never know what God has in store for us. He lives every day as if it is his last, and if he wakes up blessed with another, he gets up and does it all over again.