I wasn't living in the United States on September 11, 2001. J was stationed overseas and we were all enjoying the first of what would be two, 3-year assignments in Germany.
But I was fewer than 13 miles away from the Pentagon on that crisp, bright, not-quite-autumn morning.
At the end of August 2001, the girls and I had flown into Maryland. The plan was to stay with my mom through the beginning of October so I could attend the wedding of a good friend. Little did I know it would be closer to Thanksgiving before I would ever make it back to Europe.
On That Morning, I had awakened before the girls. My mother and brother had already left for work and I took advantage of the quiet to catch up on my e-mails. The phone rang. It was my grandmother. She asked if I had the TV on, which I didn't. As I was fumbling around to find the remote, I thought I heard her say "They blew up the World Trade Center." - which made no sense to me. But right there on Channel 7 was the unbelievable. Both towers billowing smoke. Holding the phone and unable to speak, I stayed on the phone until the South Tower collapsed. Then I sank to my knees and began to weep. The last word I heard my Grandmother say before we hung up: "Pray."
A lot can happen in 10 years. I have moved back to The States ~ twice. Lost several Loved Ones (including my beloved Grandnannie). Had a son. Run the course of my marriage. Started over. And still I pray.
Because I remember That Day. When we all stood as one. United in fear. In shock. In awe. When all we could do was pray.
Remembering the heroes and victims of September 11, 2001 and their families. Remembering the service members who gave the Ultimate Sacrifice and their families. Remembering those who continue to serve and the families who continue to sacrifice.