All of my kids were home except for Andy who looked as though he might be stranded in Washington state. He had some trouble getting home when they grounded all the airplanes, but eventually made it safely back to his wife.
I remember the eerie silence of the skies. Noise that we had assimilated in our everyday life and didn't notice, was suddenly gone. Life was unsettled. What did the future hold? Were we still in danger? I imagined the feelings our generation was going through were similar to those of our grandparents' generation when Pearl Harbor was hit. This seemed closer to home though. This was the continental US.
Like most of the nation, I was glued to the television trying to absorb the enormity of the tragedy--praying for rescuers and those needing rescue. I watched as the remains of what had been some of the tallest buildings in the world were carefully moved and searched. But what was on my TV screen, I knew could only glimpse the full extent of the destruction. The human tragedy was almost too much to bear. The faces of those who waited word of their loved ones haunted me.
Eventually, I pulled away as I am sure millions of others did as well. The event had been life changing--world changing, but it was time to move on. Now, four years later, I was offered the opportunity to visit NYC. There was no way I would go and not visit Ground Zero--not spend a few moments thanking God for those he spared and praying for those families whose lives now had a hole in them--a hole as big as the one left in the middle of NYC.
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