9/11

Today, the blogosphere is full of posts discussing the significance of today's date and how eight years ago, our lives were irrevocably changed forever.

Like most, I remember exactly where I was when I heard that the first tower had been struck. Like many, I watched, live, as a plane flew into the second tower. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My first thought, "what the hell is going on with air traffic control?", was quickly replaced by, "Oh my god. We're under attack," as realization dawned.

I called Canada and woke my mum up. As we witnessed the horror unfolding with each minute that passed: the collapse of the towers, the debris field in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon, the firefighters, the police officers, the panic, the ash, the smoke, the passengers, the crew, the people trapped in the towers and the people that escaped....my prevailing thought was, "This is not happening. This is America."

I did not personally know anyone that died on that awful day eight years ago and I can only imagine how torturous it must have been for those that had to wait weeks to get confirmation of what they knew deep down inside. To be one of those mothers or wives or sisters who played old messages over and over just to have the comfort of listening to fifteen seconds of a voice they'd never hear again or to be one of those left behind plastering the photo of a missing loved one on the exterior walls of the Armory on 26th Street, well, it's just heartbreaking. The emotional pain of that day still has the power to stop me in my tracks. The enormity of the loss still takes my breath away.

Today, we will remember. Today we will mourn.

Tomorrow, we will honour them by allowing life to go on.