9/11

I was sleeping in. Mr. Epi tore into our bedroom yelling something about a plane hitting the WTC. It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in.

When I finally made it to the living room, FC was on the floor playing with trains, Mr. Epi was sitting on the couch completely engrossed in the reports that were coming in from everywhere courtesy of CNN.

I sat down next to him and grabbed his hand. "This wasn't an accident, was it?" He didn't think it was.

Then the second plane hit.

I couldn't move. I just sat there, tears streaming down my face as I thought about all of the people in those planes. All of those families with children. All of those people... Gone, just like that. And then there were those in the buildings... I had visited the WTC before with my ex. Those buildings held a special place in my heart.

The thought of one or both of them collapsing never crossed my mind.

Mr. Epi emerged from FC's bedroom just in time to hear me shriek as the first tower fell. He held me as I sobbed when the second tower fell.

The image that I will forever associate with 9/11 will not be the planes crasing into the buildings, or into the pentagon, or into that field in Pennsylvania.

It won't be the people jumping to their deaths.

It won't even be watching those buildings fall. All of these things were horrible tragedies, and my prayers have always and will always go up for those innocent victims.

The image that I will forever associate with this horrible day will be the faces of the Firefighters running into those buildings. The stories of how those brave men and women kept people calm and moving down the dozens of flights of stairs while they courageously climbed them.

Those 343 heroes.

Rest in Peace. And may God hold you in the palm of his hand.