On September 10, 2001 I was depressed. I was thirty-four years old and a single mother to an adorable eight year old, Alina.

That night, after work, I did what I had done daily since February 21, 2001. I read to my daughter Alina, tucked her into bed, and then retreated to my front porch.

Before February 21, 2001, my front porch was hardly noticed. I was simply passing through that space to get somewhere else. The porch was a place to put the groceries before carrying...