Where were you on 9/11?
Trisha and I were in Manhattan, which was home for us. We shared the disbelief and bewilderment with thousands of New Yorkers who flooded onto the streets after the terror attack. Our shock turned to despair when we tried giving blood in midtown, only to be told there was no need.
New York, a city that is a regular cacophony of noise, was silent that day. Hundreds of survivors, many covered with the ash from the WTC, made the several mile walk
to the Queensborough Bridge, a few blocks from where we lived. We watched them for hours - a grim, almost post-apocalyptic march home.
9/11 was by far the single worst day in our 26 years of living in New York. But the few weeks that followed were the greatest ever. New Yorkers were united. It did not matter if someone was black or white or a democrat or republican, we were all simply Americans. It was a unity forged only as a great tragedy can. And everyone tried helping in any way they could. For us, that turned our to be a book two years later about how the FBI and CIA had missed all the warning signs and had failed to prevent the attack.
As with our friends with whom we shared that singular experience, we can never forget, nor do we want to.
