Like many, I remember that day in 2001 vividly. I was about 2 months pregnant with Cole and Cole was barely 2 years old. I remember waking up early and not being able to get back to sleep. My mind was spinning with the list of things to do before the baby came… in 7 more months… Instead of fighting it, I decided to get up and task. It was sometime after 5:30 in the morning… Pacific time.
I pulled out boxes of pictures I was planning to eventually scrapbook. After some sorting, I decided to turn on the news. It would be the local news… it wasn’t even 6 a.m. yet, but the room was too quiet. I turned on the television and the first plane had just hit the north tower of the World Trade Center. What?
I sat on my bed and just watched. I felt confused. Was this a movie? Wasn’t the local news on in the early morning? Why was the “major network” news on? As strange as it seems, it wasn’t until the second place hit the south tower that I realized “This is real. This is REALLY happening NOW! Oh, Lord… Oh, Lord… Oh, Lord!” I sat stunned… both hands covering my mouth.
…The towers fell. I simply cannot write that without tears filling my eyes. Truly, horrible. I felt panic. I felt fear. 3,000 miles away and I felt the pit of my stomach turn inside out. I felt helpless. I paced for a moment. Shouldn’t I do something? I held my belly and remember feeling great fear for the baby I would be bringing into this world… I looked in on my little Cole as he slept - comfortable and unaware that the world had completely changed.
As the days unfolded, so did the personal stories… I came across one of those stories today. Thank you Fussypants for taking the time to Tweet the link to that story. It’s another mother’s story. My experience was padded by a 3,000 mile cushion. This mother, was in the city. She and her 4 year old son heard the impact… smelled the smoke… Mercy. You MUST read this.
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