My last semester of college. About to graduate. About to go out into the world. So excited.
I woke up and took a shower. In my towel, I went down into our living room to turn on the tv and check the weather forecast. My usual Tuesday routine. Only this time, I turned on the weather channel to a quick local report, then "But we'll get you back to New York, now, since we know you're all wondering about that" Wondering about what? They switched over. The first tower was on fire. What the...? Put on CNN. The second I found CNN, the second tower exploded. In that instant, I knew - our country was under attack. A gut feeling. I just sensed it. One plane is an accident. But two? That's pure malice.
I was glued. I missed my first class while I watched the towers fall. Finally, I got dressed and drove to campus. Went to class. No one could pay attention. Professor dismissed us in 20 minutes. I went back home. My roommates were there. We sat, together, in our little house, watching the news all day. I called my sister - she's fine. I called my dad - he's fine. I couldn't get through to my mom, who was traveling. She finally called me. She's fine, just "worried about my little social worker and her big heart." It was true. I was devastated. All that loss. All that fear. All those poor families. I burst into tears. My roommates and I cried together.
The days that followed were sad. Scary.
The weeks that followed were confusing.
The years that followed have been sad. Scary. Confusing.
10 years later, and the images have no less affect on me than they did that day. I weep for the families who still mourn. My heart swells with pride in the policemen and firefighters who drove in while everyone else ran out.