Remembering

It’s hard for me to believe it has been seven years since September 11. Time goes by way too quickly. It’s one of those days that if you were old enough to know what was happening you’ll always remember where you were. I guess like my mother’s generation and the assassination of JFK.

I was at work and the real estate agent of one of my co-worker’s called to tell my co-worker about the planes. After I got off the phone with her, my boss and I spent 20 minutes trying to load CNN.com but it kept freezing up. Eventually everyone in our office went to the lobby area where there was a huge television and we watched what was going on. I don’t remember much else about being at work that day except lots of emails from friends I hadn’t spoken to in awhile saying “are you seeing what’s happening??”

I had been living alone for barely two months. When I got back to my apartment that night I just sat on the couch with the tv on. I didn’t sleep in my bed for a few days; I stayed camped out on the couch at night. I was afraid I would miss something so I kept the tv on continuously. I had to fight the urge to drive back to Covington to my mom’s.

Every year I read the New York Times and their profiles of those that were killed that day. People who just thought they were going to work, or catching a flight and had no inkling as to what was about to happen – it gives me chills and I guess it should.