The phone rang and my grandmother was calling to ask if we were all okay. It was a regular morning, as far as we knew, getting ready for work and playing with our children who were then 4 months and just over 2 years at the time. Our sitter was late to arrive - and we later found out that hers was the last subway to make it through the tunnel... We didn't put the news on in the mornings when the kids were little. We were tucked away in the safety of our 12th floor apartment, in the comfort of our family routine.
In the days that followed we heard so many personal stories - my cousin in Boston had a friend in each of the planes. A friend of mine whose office was in one of the towers was away on vacation. My husband's friend was early to a meeting there and had been sitting outdoors. My neighbor's husband, a fire fighter, was at home asleep. So many "almosts". And then the little boy whose classmate was a client of mine - this little boy reenacted the plane crash and the destruction of the towers over and over again, narrating the story of how the bad guys made it so that his mother could never come home.
Each day since, I feel a little more grateful for my life and for my family. There are truly no words to describe it. But I'll always remember.