We bracketed our day of sightseeing in Oklahoma City last week with a visit to two sites which were scenes of horrific disasters, one natural, the other man-made. First, we drove through the community of Moore, which almost a year ago suffered the destruction of an EF5 tornado. The massive twister, on the ground for 37 minutes, spun a 17-mile-long, 1.3-mile-wide path of devastation and killed 24 people, injuring more than 350. We drove past streets which once were lined with large, brick homes and leafy trees but now are edged with bare lots of concrete slabs and broken, skeletal trunks. A huge, open lot once housed the Moore Medical Center, which was so severely damaged that it had to be razed. Such scenes are a vast improvement over what the area looked like immediately after the storm. My brother said he stood at the center of one intersection with his video camera then and filmed a 360-degree shot of twisted, shattered wreckage as far as the eye could see. All of that has been cleared away, and already hundreds of homes have been rebuilt. We drove past neighborhoods with houses in all stages of construction, and the Moore Medical Center, in a pared-down form, now huddles on the edge of its former parking lot in a series of portable, temporary structures. At the end of the day, we visited the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum at the site of the former Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, bombed in an act of domestic terrorism on April 19, 1995. Symbolism informs all of the elements incorporated here. Two massive “gates of time,” one on the east inscribed with “9:01 a.m.” and the other on the west with “9:03 a.m.” bracket a reflecting pool and that moment in time which forever changed those whose lives were taken and those who survived. A field of empty chairs in nine rows,    stretching across the footprint of the building, represent the lives of those lost on the nine floors of the building. Each is etched with the name of one of the victims, the smaller chairs representing the children whose lives were taken. Above this scene grows the Survivor Tree,   a beautiful elm tree whose broad, deep-green canopy provides shade for groups of visitors who listen respectfully to park rangers as they describe the events of that day and the responses of the people of the city, the nation and the world after that awful day. This tree sat in the middle of a parking lot then, and it survived the shrapnel from the explosion and the heat and flames from the burning cars surrounding it after the blast. It is a moving yet peaceful place, and together with the adjoining museum seems to truly succeed in its stated goal: “We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.” The sights we saw in Moore and at the memorial that day showed us the resilience of people and the strength that comes from individuals coming together in the worst of times to help and support each other. — Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor