9/11.......

I do this each year, either talk about it with a friend, or write my memory of the day down. After all......it is a day of remembrance.

The two things that stand out to me now--before the attacks--was the beauty of the day. The other--I was hideously sick with tonisillitis. I thought what a pity this was--it would be a great day to take the girls--then 2 and 6 months old--to the park.

I was sitting on an exam table when I heard the commotion in the outside hallway. Just a minute later, the doctor came in to write my prescription. I asked him what the hu-bub was about. At that particular time, it was thought it was a small plane. I remarked, "Gotta love air traffic control."

I went out to pay my co-pay, and stood watching for awhile with the staff and other patients.....and saw the direct hit into the North Tower. And said, "THAT was no small plane." The doctor was standing there, nodding. One of the administrators remarked what were the chances....? And I said, "None. This is no accident."

I stood watching awhile longer, but the baby was getting fussy, and so I started home. I opened the driver's side door to turn on talk radio......locked the girls into their car seats, and as I fastened my seat belt.......the news came about the Pentagon.

I raced home, both because Cate was in an all-out scream and because I HAD to see it for myself. After Shanksville, and after the buildings fell, and after the President ordered all planes land--or be shot down--it occured to me, for the first time, so shocked was I--my God, they could be everywhere. And then--Christopher.

I got back in the car to go to his school.....and parents were just walking in, getting their kids, and walking out. Not signing out. Just.......getting them OUT.

Every year, I remember. I watch at least the ceremonies. I recall where I was that day, and I liken it to the Kennedy assassination--even my father, who can't remember what he ate for dinner last night, can tell you EXACTLY where he was when Kennedy was killed.

It still makes me feel as physically sick, eight years later, to see those images I saw on 9/11/01. I mourn the loss of life.....I mourn the last day of our nation as I knew it--September 10th.....I remember--and now I wonder--at a thought I had the night of September 10th--I was so sick, and I crawled into bed as soon as Bill got home, and I thought to myself......how warm and SAFE I felt. I don't think I'll ever feel that safe again.

I remember the courage of those who died on Flight 93....heroes in the truest sense of the word. I saw a documentary--after it had been pieced together what happened, through the messages and phone calls to families on the ground called 'No Greater Love'--in the words of Jesus, who said that there was no greater love than to lay down your life for your fellow man. And they did. They died--but by God, they died on their own terms. It is an enormous testament to the bravery and courage our country was founded on......they had that bravery and courage, even in the last minutes of their lives. If for only a little while, those hijackers knew the spirit of AMERICANS.....and those men and women saved the lives of people on the ground--how many? We'll never know. But I can't help but shake my fist a little in pride, when I think of what they did......for the guts they had, and the courage (and that word 'courage'--as good as it is, doesn't seem quite enough to bear up to the definition of what they did.)

All 3,000 are still in my prayers, as are the families, and those who tried to save them. The people we make out to be heroes, icons--football stars, movie stars (most recently, Michael frigging Jackson comes to mind)--if you want a hero--look to 9/11. Because God knows--we had more than a few that day.

I remember.