It’s been on my mind all day.
I was driving Trooper to school, a little four year old, eager and happy for her new school, bouncing in the back of the car.
And I was listening to the news.
At 9.02. And since I was in Montreal, and on the same time as NYC, I listened as it happened.
And the journalists were trying to figure it out at the same time as we were listening. No one knew, no one understood.
And then I took Princess to the first day of her play group, and all the other mothers, on their cell phones, worried, pale faced.
Were we at war?
Why? Who? What?
And I met one of my most special friends in the world. And she had no idea why I was acting so strange. And she thought I was unfriendly. But I was scared. And I couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing. And it shook me to my core, along with everyone else. We walked in a daze. But I always remember meeting her and starting out wonderful friendship on that date, in the midst of the world falling down.
And today, 10 years later, I sat in a classroom with a group of Arab students and listened to their stories of that day, and all their days since. And we talked, deeply and with profound hope about what had happened and what should never happen again.