Fourteen Years Ago

Do you remember where you were fourteen years ago?

It’s strange to me to think that it’s been fourteen years. It feels like so much shorter a period of time. But also, in many ways, much longer. And yet, with both of those statements, living here in the DC area, it’s not a day that I’ll easily forget.

This is a good thing.

I remember sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and listening to the radio while getting ready to leave for my new-ish job where, later that day, I was supposed to go to the Department of State to join as an on-site contractor. Before I got in the car, the first plane had hit and the DJs, thinking it was some sort of weird accident, not knowing what it heralded, were cracking jokes about pilots saying “Oops.”

Before much longer, I was in the car, headed into the city, and I called my mom to ask if she’d heard about the plane hitting the tower. She called back, having not yet turned on any media, and wondered what the punchline was.

Stuck in traffic on the interstate, I listened with horror as events unfolded.

Since my route would have taken me past the Pentagon and roads were being closed rapidly, I called in to my office and said I was heading back home. There was no way I’d be able to make it in.

No matter where you were, no matter if it feels like something that happened far away, don’t forget the victims and heroes of 9/11. And never stop praying for our country.