I was sleeping in my apartment. My one year old son in a crib nearby. I woke to a phone call from my work asking if I had a radio that I could bring it in that day because of what happened. I said something like, what happened? I was in shock, as was most of America. I listened to the news all the way to work. I have to say that I didn’t even know what the twin towers were. I didn’t see videos of what happened until much later. Catastrophes similar to this happen all over the world, but this was my country. This was my America. The home of the free. The home of the brave. A place where we feel, well, safe.
In the years since then I have learned so much more. My story is similar to many Americans. Yet, my story is nothing like the story of those who were there. I know it is nothing compared to the people who had to say goodbye to the ones that they love. Nothing compares to the ones who spent hours in the dust filled air trying to save those who could be saved. This day lives on in memory of them. In the memory of the brave, and the courageous, and the lost.
