Whenever I think of 9/11, I think of Marcy Borders. You may know her as “The Dust Lady.” Marcy was 28 years old, a legal assistant from New Jersey who had only recently started working at Bank of America in the North Tower. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she arrived at work on the 81st floor shortly after 8:00 a.m. When American Airlines Flight 11 struck the tower, her supervisor initially thought it might have been a small plane that had somehow clipped the building. It wasn't. The plane had struck 12 floors above them. The building shook. Marcy and her colleagues fled down the stairs. It took her about an hour to escape. Then the South Tower collapsed. A massive cloud of dust and debris engulfed the streets. Marcy was knocked off her feet. She couldn't see. She could barely breathe. A stranger pulled her from the cloud and dragged her into the lobby of a nearby building. That photograph of Marcy, covered in dust, became one of the defining images of 9/11. But she wasn't The Dust Lady. She was Marcy Borders. She was 28 years old. She was someone's daughter, someone's friend, and a young woman who simply went to work that morning. Marcy survived September 11. She died of stomach cancer in 2015, at just 42 years old. Her family believed the toxic dust she inhaled that day contributed to her illness. I knew her as The Dust Lady for years. But whenever I see this picture, I don't see a symbol of 9/11. I see Marcy. And I can't help but tear up. We should never forget her. We should never forget any of them.