I have my story of this day. September 11, 2001. It’s really not my story at all. It’s our story. But there is my small part—where I was and how I couldn’t let myself feel fear because I had two young kids who needed me. How my husband got home from Washington, DC that day by way of a friend of a friend, first in a convertible jam-packed with panicked federal workers and then in a pick-up truck with more weary passengers. The relief I felt at hearing his voice and feeling his embrace.
I am safe and there is nothing to fear on this evening walk. I tell myself this over and over again.