#NeverForget

17 years ago today I was working in a travel agency in York, PA and I was eight months pregnant with my oldest son, Harrison. At 8:53, a co-worker's husband called to tell us that something had happened in NYC. We turned on the TV and watched, in mind-numbing shock, as the tragic events unfolded. The second plane, the Pentagon, flight UA 93, the dreadful collapse: it was all a blur amidst frantic phone calls as customers called to cancel all future flight plans. I couldn't talk to Andy because he was working at a cabinet shop that happened to be owned by an Amish family who really didn't care about what was happening. They were nice people, but the outside world meant nothing to them. 
I talked with my mom and many friends on AOL Instant Messenger all morning. I answered their questions.  Yes, I lived in PA, but I was located two hours east of Somerset County where the plane had crashed. There was so much confusion and panic, not only in the U.S., but also in my heart. What kind of world was this baby coming in to? 
They closed the travel agency early that day. I went home and waited for Andy to get off work, at normal time, I might add. I relived it again as he watched the news and gained a full perspective of the horrific events that had taken place. 
This day, I will #NeverForget. 
Recently, I visited the 9/11 Memorial in NYC. Silence and quiet contemplation permeate the area where the twin towers once stood. It is a beautiful and sacred place. Visitors stare into the water that appears to fall into eternity. Words are kept to a low voice or a whisper.