Everyone over the age of 5 has a story of "where I was when the towers were hit"

I was working from home on the computer, while the carpet-cleaning man “Bob, from Duraclean” was steam-cleaning the white carpet in the living room (yet again).

The phone rings… a neighbor, Anne Marie, wondered what I thought of that stuff happening down in New York. What stuff? It was 9am on September 11th. I became glued to the television set. On my knees. Praying mercy for the world, and yes, even praying with the carpet guy, a member of a local Christian church, so I found out.

Yes, we knew people who died. Yes, we know a lot of people who knew a whole lot more. We couldn’t get a phone line to New York, all day, but we did reach the plumbing supply shop out on Long Island, where my father-in-law and brother-in-law work. Slowly, they were hearing from our siblings and friends in the city. I phoned Bob, my husband, and he came home "just as soon as I find out who is in the air today." (Bob, the consummate frequent flyer also frequently had to send colleagues on travel for business too. Fortunately, the three co-workers were either diverted or still on the ground.) Bob came home in stunned silence. We held hands for two hours without even being able to talk or eat. Numbly, we picked up the children from school. And so it began for us, as it must have begun for you.

Copyright 2006 Patricia W. Gohn