As you are well aware, the 10th anniversary of the attacks on America took place this past September 11th. Like most, I sat idol and watched the children, no older than my own, read their daddy’s names aloud, and proud, in memory. When tragedy strikes, one often remembers the exact moment and location, or even the smell of the brand new carpet that one was sitting upon. I remember kneeling down to fold the laundry on my cool basement floor in front of the television – my son Jack had just drifted off for his morning nap. I was all of two footie-pajamas in before my hands transferred from the precious little clothes I was folding to cover my gaping mouth. While Jack continued to sleep peacefully upstairs, I watched in horror as the events of 9/11 unfolded before my very eyes.
I am so deeply sorry to all of the wives, children, and parents, whose men (and women) did not return home that night- like mine did from some 50 blocks away. I cannot begin to imagine the devastation that all of the victims and their families endured. I would be lying if I said I could. Although, this past Sunday, as I watched the memorial of 9/11, this time from a new house, with my 11-year old son Jack by my side, I saw faces of hope rather than faces of fear. I witnessed an inner-strength- one that rebuilds, remarries and some day, remembers with peace.