On the morning of September 11, 2001, a dozen or more NRA Publications employees and I crammed into the tiny division library to watch TV news coverage of the shocking scene unfolding before our eyes. Holly’s home is filled with reminders of Craig, such as the red, white and blue mantel dedicated to photos of the family, his professional accomplishments, and framed pictures of the National Law Enforcement Memorial. The engineers, who had painstakingly identified all that was taken from the site, at last had made a positive match to Craig. The news they delivered was what she had been dreading for 20 months: There had been DNA identification of remains found in the rubble of the Towers. But when Holly opened the door to her friend, he was standing with other agents she hadn’t expected, and she knew it would be no ordinary visit. The support network she’d come to rely on-co-workers of Craig’s-stopped by regularly, so his call wasn’t unusual. On May 15, 2003, one of Holly’s friends from the Secret Service telephoned to say he planned to visit later that day. And though logic and reality dictated that Craig would never come home to Holly and their four boys, there was always something in the deep recesses-the illogical, hopeful part-of her brain that said, “maybe.” And “maybe” meant there was hope, particularly for Holly’s eldest sons, Robby and Cody, to whom Craig had been Dad since they were in kindergarten. Craig’s body, like so many others, had not been recovered. Secret Service Master Special Officer Craig Miller, who was on temporary duty in New York City during the terrorist attacks, likely perished when the Twin Towers fell. In the months that had passed since 9/11, Holly Miller, a former editorial assistant in the NRA Publications Division, lived with the knowledge that her husband, U.S. It was a phone call that would eliminate all doubt and, at the same time, eliminate all hope.
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