I was not here when 9/11 happened.
I was living overseas, in a country where life went on much the same as before.
When I first heard the news, I was in a meeting and a friend called and told me in a mix of languages that planes had crashed into two tall buildings in New York. I thought she was mistaken, that the news hadn't gotten it right.
We had no television, so the images I saw were still photos that looked like the old movies with pie pans on string for UFOs.
It wasn't until December 2001 that I was back in the states and saw real video of the planes crashing into the towers. Unreal. That was the word that stuck in my head.
So now, living in the USA, I feel like the truth of what happened that day is hitting me for the first time.
I am figuring out how to tell my child who is old enough to know, even though he wasn't yet born that day. How do you say that something worse than a nightmare actually happened? How do you make him feel safe and secure while telling of such horrors?
For my memorial service, I will be baking a pan of brownies for our local firefighters. In some way it is a remembrance and a prayer as I grieve.