I remember waking up to the sound of the t.v. morning news and wondering as I stumbled down the hall, why Charlie was still home. That Charlie had been working in Maui since our wedding day just two months earlier and so, was typically on one of the first flights out in the morning and one of the later flights home in the evening. It was all I had known as a young wife, his flying and working, during the day, and our "passing in the night" sort of existence. And then that morning he was just there, on the couch, silent and alert, strangely, terrifyingly, alert.
"A plane flew into the World Trade Center" he said without looking up "the airport's closed". And I remember that being the moment I was afraid of the world and ached for my country and thanked God that Charlie had been grounded, on our couch and not in any airport anywhere, for the days that would follow. When we were, as a nation, too afraid to move, so unsure of what was happening and so overcome with the questions of "why" that we would not allow ourselves to fly.
If you please, this space is yours to remember, to share your story of