...exactly where I was that morning 10 years ago when I found out about the unbelievably tragic terrorist attacks against our nation. I had gone over to my aerobics class as usual, but there was a sign up on the door saying the class had been canceled for the day. I went home to shower and get dressed, so I turned on the TV to find a PBS kids show to keep my little ones busy. I couldn't believe the image I was seeing. At that point it was only one plane in one fire-engulfed building. The news anchors were speculating about how this could have happened when suddenly a second plane hit the flaming tower's twin, and we all knew exactly what was going on. Then reports came in about other attacks and I began to feel sick to my stomach. Where are they attacking next? How far is this going to go? How will we stop them, I wondered as my husband called to check on us. I wanted him to come home so we could all be together. I'd feel so much better that way.
It was about this time when I saw the horror of the towers falling and I burst into tears and cried out an audible uncontrollable, "NO!" as I thought of the thousands of innocent trapped citizens, firefighters, and police officers being smothered to death. All I could think of was the poor families of those people and how they'd never see them again.
So that is why I write this. Ten years later I still feel the desperate need to never forget this. And I hope the US government doesn't either. I hope the war on terror doesn't get sidetracked as it has in the past, because the terrorists and their evil and horror will only get stronger if we send them the message that we don't care anymore. That we're giving up because it costs too much (or insert any number of excuses here). I hope we honor those who fell that day in the way they deserve.