Remembering

Ten years ago today, I was in my office on the 14th floor of a building downtown DC. Someone in the office called us to the conference room, where we witnessed on the news with confusion and disbelief a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. Then the news cut to the Pentagon. Again confusion. From our offices, we could see smoke rising in the distance from the Pentagon. We thought the world was ending.


It took about two hours before anyone could make any sense of it. But when we did, others around the city had already made their way into the streets. Chaos. Congestion. The subway was closed, our phones weren't working. It was our first taste of calamity. I don't really remember how I got home that day, but I do remember being glued to the television that evening, to the other-worldly lack of air travel, no planes, military personnel in the transit system with assault rifles for months afterward. A heightened sense of vulnerability, a dreadful calm.

Our lives and the world changed because of that day.

This morning, as G went for coffee and Delicious played in a box that I was unpacking (we're still unpacking), I watched the memorial on television and was moved. It seemed like yesterday, not ten years. But then I look at my son playing, only nine months old and not even alive, his parents had not yet met on that day.  I realized life is fleeting and short and should never be taken for granted. I feel for those who lost family members and loved ones. Some of the readers, especially the grown children of those who perished, were particularly wrenching. One young man, 21 years old, spoke of his father, how he hoped that he was proud of him, how his mother and brother moved on, got jobs, but still remember and are inspired by the man. There are many stories like this. I can't even imagine.