I remember where I was and how I felt on that horrible day.
I talked on the phone last night with one of my favorite bloggers, a New Yorker, who sums it up so well here.
How many people started blogging that day, or soon after? And how many of us found one another online in telling our stories, expressing our horror, refinding our national pride, demanding action? The blogging community as we know it now really began that day, I believe. It was not enough to reach out to those closest to us; it was important to reach out to the world. We did, and we continue to do so to this day. We tell our stories so that no one will ever forget.
I pass by City Hall on my way to the train every morning, and it is rare to see any activity there at 7:30 a.m. Today, however, there was a freshly washed and waxed fire truck, a representative from the Army, reps from the local VFW, and pressed, polished and spit-shined representatives from our police force and fire fighters. The oldest VFW member held a folded American flag, and it was clear that there was going to be a remembrance ceremony.
Then I pictured the same thing happening in cities and towns, large and small, all across America.
I wept again for the souls lost that day.