I will never forget. . . . . .
how I felt 5 years ago as I stood in a patient's room, mouth agape, staring at the images of horror on the TV. I will never forget the look on Katie Couric or Matt Lauer's faces or the sound of Matt's voice as he reported the second plane hitting the second tower. I will never forget the chill that ran up my spine as I heard and saw the devastation at the Pentagon only minutes later. I will never forget the overwhelming sadness and yet pride upon hearing that Flight 93 had gone down in a field, pride born of an inner sense of "knowing" that those passengers had taken that plane down to prevent any further horror. I will never forget the tears that ran down my face as I heard the words that validated that inner sense of "knowing" and the heartfelt pride albeit hidden behind a shroud of sadness and grief. I will never forget how my heart raced for the entire day as I desperately wanted to be home with my family, all together, intact, whole. I will never forget the pain in my heart upon coming home to my husband and then 4 1/2 year old knowing that so many families would not be whole at the end of that day. I will never forget the anger that I felt for the senselessness of such an immense act of hatred and cruelty. I will never forget the feeling of uselessness and yes, hopelessness, that I felt for the world in which my little one was destined to grow up in. I will never forget the sense of grief over America's loss of innocence, the innocence of feeling "safe" within our borders. I will never forget "Let's Roll". I will never forget all the wives and families and their courage as they spoke and told of their last precious moments with their husbands, wives, sons, daughters and friends, even when those precious moments were just shared by way of a phone call.
I will never forget.