When 9/11 happened, 12 of our neighborhood firemen were killed. I looked around at the country that had adopted me and I became an American.

I come from Somalia. We start working young, and we understand that kind of life. I would be bored to death not doing anything creative.

I came from a background where I was very poor growing up but I have never known poverty. My parents worked hard and they went to bed hungry, but they fed us. Then my father became an ambassador, so I ended up being driven by chauffeurs. And then we became refugees. After that, I looked at it through this "glass" of to have and have not, and at the end of the day, who actually helps, who actually steps up, who is there for you.

There's a lot that I haven't put up there since my husband passed away because then it would be grief everyday. I have to fight within myself at times and ask, 'how do I go through the grief and find a light, even a glimmer of it?'

The one thing I know for a fact - some days are bad, some days are okay, and I'll go with it. If it's bad, I stay in and ride the wave and somehow, God gets me through and I'm fine. Dealing with grief doesn't work from one person to the other, it's so personal.

When 9/11 happened, 12 of our neighborhood firemen were killed. I looked around at the country that had adopted me and I became an American.

The one thing my mother instilled in me, well both my parents but specifically my mother - I come from a Muslim country where boys were more wanted than girls so she always made me feel that there is nothing that I couldn't do as well as the boys if not better.