It was a beautiful day here that day. All the descriptions you’ve read of the bright blue sky and crisp air are true. It wasn’t a day you’d expect such horror, but when would you?

I wasn’t going to write about the events of this day six years ago, because I wrestle with many of the actions that have been taken since in the name of that ghastly day. I had to write about it though upon reading many of the thoughtful posts featured in that little box of wonderful posts in the left column of this space.

Because we must remember.

September 11, 2001. I doubt there is a person in this country who doesn’t know where they were when they found out about the attack.

I was in my office, exceptionally early for me, going through email when a co-worker came in to tell me about a plane hitting the Twin Towers. We assumed it was an accident as most others did I believe. Our company didn’t have a TV so we sought one out in a neighboring office on our floor and sat down just as the second airplane hit. At that moment, we knew this was no accident.

As we sat there, the phone rang and the woman whose TV we were watching took a call from a friend. Her friend was calling to tell her that his wife had just called and she was on the plane that hit the Pentagon.

Immediately, we went up to the roof of our building to see the smoke rising from the Pentagon just miles away. It was so surreal–the beautiful day, the plumes of black smoke and the silence. Our building was in the flight path for National Airport and yet it was silent–until the fighter jets screamed across the sky. Seeing fighter jets fly that low over the nation’s capital is something I never want to see again. To this day, if I hear a jet (typically from Andrews AFB) fly low over head, a surge of panic freezes me in my spot.

I was pregnant on that day. I had just found out and only my husband knew. That fact prevented me from truly experiencing all that was happening around me. I called my mother and tried to reassure her that I was safe. I wanted to say, “it’s okay I’m pregnant!” I knew that would stop her tears, but I couldn’t. Secretly, I was worrying about the world that was going to exist for my child. Would it ever be the same?

Now that baby is five years old and he runs and he laughs and he plays baseball and he doesn’t yet know about that terrible day. And each day on my way to work, I drive by the side of the Pentagon that was destroyed. Never do I pass that spot without looking to the right at where the building was hit and to the left from where I imagine the plane must have come. Never do I forget the people who died there.

I wasn’t going to write about this, because I didn’t lose anyone that day. But, many people did. And, I will never forget.