"We ended up at Times Square with 400,000 of our closest friends.  New York’s biggest party may have been packed full of people, but the war had muted it as though we’d all come to the silent conclusion that any joy was disrespectful. Instead of the ball dropping at midnight, plane spotter stations filled the night’s sky with beams of light. The crowd watched in silent awe until the singer Lucy Monroe pierced the quiet with the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Everywhere we looked were soldiers with their girls, fiercely embracing, kissing, and dancing as though they had a lifetime of those activities to cram into one evening. As 1942 became 1943 my grief at not being able to kiss Jack at midnight was replaced by the awful fear that I may never kiss him – or anyone else – again."