Never Forget

Where were you?

It was a beautiful day.  Not a cloud in the sky.  I was home with four young children, and I had another on the way.  My oldest was seven, and excited as can be because the roofers were coming.

Usually punctual and boisterous, that day the roofers were both tardy and subdued.  “Turn on your television” was all they would say.  In disbelief, I learned that our country had been attacked.  I watched in horror as a plane plowed through the second tower.  My children were too young to understand, but I gazed at my growing belly and wondered what kind of world I was bringing my child into.

Recognizing that if those planes were hijacked and used as flying bombs, there could be others in the air at that very moment,  I gathered my children around me and we prayed.  We prayed for those trying to escape the inferno in New York.  We prayed for any hijackers who hadn’t yet made their move, that they would have a change of heart.  We prayed for those who might be, at that very moment, about to become part of another strike.  We prayed that the passengers and crew of any plane still under attack would be able to resist and overcome their hijackers.

Shortly after that we heard that a third plane had crashed – this one into the Pentagon.  The wrong side.  Was that an answer to prayer?

How many more planes would there be?

Certain that there were others up there somewhere, we continued praying.  And while I mourned those who died in the crash in Pennsylvania, I was (and continue to be) profoundly grateful to the passengers and flight attendants who stood up to the hijackers and gave their lives in defense of our country.



2 thoughts on “Never Forget

  1. Two days after the attack I was up in northern New Jersey for a meeting. I have no words to explain how I felt watching the smoke rise over NY. By then we knew that 8 people from our county had died in the attack and two people from our small town were among them.

    Most days I ride my bike passed a memorial dedicated to local victims of terrorist attacks. It stands in a quiet place in the park near my home. There are 28 names on this memorial. Eight from the World Trade Center and 20 from the Pan Am Flight 103 bombing (miss you Michael). Sometimes I stop and look at the names on this memorial and am still amazed that such senseless hatred took these people.

    While listening to the names of the victims being read this morning, I was struck by the diversity of the people who lost their lives that day. So many religions and countries were represented. Such a tragic event not just for the US but for many people living around the globe.

  2. I was in Dallas. I had just flown home the following evening, leaving my husband in Miami. He was scheduled to fly home on 9/11. My nephew was attending a conference in the Marriott World Trade Center. He made it out with the clothes on his back and no place to stay, no way to get home to Arkansas. Many, many friends and colleagues that I worked with in the financial industry perished in the World Trade Center. I was lucky. Both my nephew and my husband were home safely within a few days. Others were not so privileged.

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