Two big burly guys came to deliver my couch.
We watched the 2nd plane go into the second tower, live. Me and two large men who'd never met each other and had nothing in common other than the delivery. We were stunned. Cried. Worried. And we were bonded.
I called my church; pray I said. Pray cause two planes are still out there. My husband saw the plume of black smoke rising out out of the Pentagon's hit. The other plane crashed and spared more lives... but so many lives lost.
It took my darling husband 3 hours to get home. I ironed. I prayed. I knew my daughter, a second grader at the time, would be safer at school than at home. I continued to iron.
Ironing out wrinkles of pain, wrinkles of worry, wrinkles of anger, wrinkles of agony.
I ironed hard. I prayed hard. I hoped hard.
I cried hard.
My DH finally arrived home. We picked up our darling daughter at the bus stop. We sat on the deck and listened. To nothing. No planes overhead. Phone calls. Brother calling. Our lives have changed forever.
We circulated in the neighborhood. We created bonds. We were a family of Americans in a diverse land.
I'll never forget.
This day will always, forever, be my memory.