On my 37th birthday, I woke up to the horrific news.
My husband’s assistant called us early. She wanted to make sure we were watching TV. We turned it on and couldn’t believe what we saw. An airplane crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. WHAT? How is that possible? And then the second plane.
A friend stopped by to pick up my girls and drive them to school. She was bubbly, wondering how my morning was going. Obviously she hadn’t heard.
The rest of the day is a blur, yet crystal clear.
My husband took me out for my birthday lunch. It was hard to eat. The events unfolding made me feel anxious and sick. The last thing I felt was happy.
It didn’t make sense. Our country, under attack by terrorists. I’d never dreamed that was possible.
I spent the afternoon at my friend’s…
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