Remembering Sept. 11th

As I face my first 9/11 as a mother, I reflect on that sad day eight years ago. I was working as an assistant editor for The Gazette, a weekly publication owned by the Washington Post, about 40 miles from Washington, DC. At the time I had a bi-monthly column that I wrote. This morning I searched the archives of the paper to find my column from that week 8 years ago. What is so strange to me is how reading the words can take me back...just like that.

Here's the column I wrote at the time:

Moment of Change
It's very strange how things can change so fast.
On Tuesday morning I woke up, got dressed and drove into work. My radio was set to the local country music station. I pulled into the parking garage, turned off the car and walked to the office still humming Travis Tritt's "It's a Great Day to be Alive."
When I rounded the corner to my desk, our editor, Vivian, looked up at me with tears in her eyes and asked, "Have you heard?"
"Heard what?" I asked, as my heart fell into my shoes.
In the next few moments, I realized that in the time it took me to walk from the garage to the office, reports of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center in New York City had made it to media outlets.
Like the rest of the world, we were still reeling from the apparent tragic accident, when the second plane hit.
Somewhere deep inside I immediately knew this was no accident. "We're under attack," I whispered.
All work in the office stopped. We huddled around the radios and listened to the sound of panic in radio announcers' voices.
And just when we thought things may have settled down, reports of the plane crashing into the Pentagon came flooding across the airwaves.
I will never forget the look of fear in the eyes of my co-workers. For just a moment I allowed my mind to wonder, what if we're next?
It was terrifying.
I can never imagine the fear and horror those on the planes and those in the office buildings must have experienced. My heart goes out to them and I will continue to pray for all of those affected by this tragedy.
I can't imagine that life will ever be the same again. The tragedy is still too fresh and my emotions too raw.
When I left work late Tuesday night I turned the ignition on and mysteriously the notes of Tritt's song again filled my car. But this time I didn't sing along.
I turned the radio off and drove home in silence, reflecting on the day that everything changed.