I stood amid the rubble of the World Trade Center, passing buckets of debris down a line of volunteers and first responders. It was hours after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. A little white object poking out of the gray ash caught my attention.
Scuffed and dirty, it was unmistakably a golf ball. And in that moment, it represented an incomprehensible loss that would take years, if ever, to process.