I was on the way to work when I heard on the radio that a plane had flown into one of the Twin Towers. It wasn’t explained and I envisioned a small plane, with a learning pilot, and I remember feeling such sorrow for whoever that was. I couldn’t understand why a little plane would have been there.
I pulled into work and remember walking through the parking lot on that beautiful blue day.
I remember the shock of my ‘vision’ being so wrong.
Over the next eight hours we couldn’t turn the news off.
We couldn’t believe what we were hearing.
All I could think of was the people in the buildings, in the planes, and the people who watched the news with the realization their loved one was there. Or there. Or there.
I can close my eyes and see my office. I can hear my phone ringing and my sister calling to say she was going home because the world was on fire.
I picked up pizza for the family on the way home.
I don’t remember if we ate it or not.
I remember my youngest child lying on the floor and falling asleep. She didn’t wake up for 18 hours. Her body, or her mind, wouldn’t let her wake up to the horrors.
I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing the faces on television, or in my imagination.
I remember the world responding. With kindness. With love. And with support.
I remember feeling helpless.
I remember not knowing what to do to help.
I remember crying for people I did not know.
I remember the world changing that day.