I woke up this morning, remembering.
Last night, my husband and I remembered together. We recalled how my phone rang because my friend in Chicago was watching the morning news. I couldn’t understand her because of the crying.
We recalled how I called my husband at work and how he came home that morning from his office in Ann Arbor.
We recalled how we thought my dad was en route to the Pentagon, and we didn’t know–for at least an hour–whether or not he was in the Pentagon or still in Alexandria, Virginia. He wasn’t there that morning, but we didn’t know that yet.
We recalled how we stared at the TV–standing up mostly, not sitting–for nearly 9 hours straight. We recalled how we had to do something, so we went to buy an American flag to fly. When we arrived at the store, everyone else in our community was thinking the same thing. I drove around town, pregnant with my first daughter, and asked God if the world was really coming to an end. Was I ready?
I went to a campus chapel and cried with complete strangers for a few hours.
Everyone has their story to tell. One way to honor this day is to allow people in your life to tell it.
Journal: Can you remember that day as clearly as I can?