To be honest, there are major gaps in my memories of
I remember when my husband (who worked down the hall) called and said "Turn on the Today Show, a plane just crashed into the
I remember evacuating my employees from the building. I remember sitting in the car on Constitution Avenue, hearing the news that a plane was heading for the State Department, and trying unsuccessfully to call my husband to say "I’m not moving, you can walk over one block and we can go home together."
I don’t remember turning on the TV. I didn’t need to. I had just driven by the Pentagon still spewing sky-high flames and the blackest smoke I had ever seen. I was the only car on the
I remember picking Bill up from work (don’t ask me where), the sound of fighter jets flying over my house all night, and not being able to close my eyes. The rest of the day is a blank. I don’t need to remember it, I don’teven try.
Because what I never want to forget is
I wore that ribbon every day until we headed to
We lived in a moment when generosity that knew no bounds. Hearts that were boiling over with hurt and sadness were determined to make something good come from tragedy. That reflective mood and sense of gratitude guided us through the holidays, but then slowly faded to the background. It was only natural. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t.
So on September 11 and September 12, I will put on my pin, as I do every year, and remember the people who showed us that love matters most. I will remember that the venomous, acrimonious talk we hear day in and day out can be silenced with simple acts of kindness and respect. And I will hope that next time, it won’t take a tragedy to unveil our generous hearts.