We wern't tweeting.
Had no social network sites to check.
And there wasn't an app for it.
Like so many millions,
it was just a normal day for me.
I was in the car with my husband, heading to a meeting.
Just a normal Tuesday.
Then there was breaking news on the radio.
I quickly connected with a friend -
both her kids lived near the towers.
They were safe.
The group we were meeting with gathered in the hotel lobby
and crowded around the tv sets in the bar.
We called parents, family.
Schools weren't sending kids home.
More watching. More waiting.
The group finally withdrew to a conference room.
There would be no meeting.
We headed home, to our den.
With several close friends we watched.
And waited for our kids to get home from school
so we could hug them.
And listen to what they had been told.
And fill them in. And pray.
Then we watched all together.
Do you remember all the watching?
We were blessed. And safe.
I remember stories, and faces.
But knew no one who died that day.
I remember the music. And the poems.
And that profound sense that nothing would
ever be the same.
And that profound sense that we hoped this
horror would be a
catalyst for change.
Here we are ten years later.
I'm not sure, as a whole, we'll like the answers if we
ask the tough questions.