Seven Years

Seven years ago today, I was in my nasty cubicle at Chain #3 getting ready for our weekly merchandising meeting (in other words, flogging). As usual, I pulled up the Chicago Tribune to see what was going on in the civilized world. The headline at that time was that a plane hit the WTC but it was thought to be a small plane and an accident. Over the course of the next half hour, the second plane hit, and then the Pentagon was hit shortly after that.

H was working in DC at the time. He was on his way in to the firm during the Pentagon attack, and rose out of the Metro to see the billowing clouds of smoke across the river. His office building was directly in between the White House and the Capitol on Pennsylvania Avenue, so I was in a state of sheer terror until he called me later in the morning. His brother, who lived 3 blocks away from the WTC and worked on Wall Street at the time, was also fine (but couldn't get into his apartment without the National Guard for 6 months).

I have never been so frightened in my entire life. I have also never been so horrified as I was in the weeks immediately following the attacks. How do people in war zones function? Or, people that have had children abducted or loved ones murdered? I pray that I will never find out.