I'm sad. My heart hurts for all of the sons and daughters and moms and dads and aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas out there experiencing the 11th anniversary of tragic loss. So many people will be looking at their watches and clocks today reliving the timeline.
8:46 - the first plane hits. Families are destroyed in an instant. Lives gone. Sadly, nobody (except for the terrorists) has any clue of the horrors to come.
9:03 - the second plane hits. Panic sets in. This is real. Time officially stops for anyone with relatives in the NYC area.
9:37 - the Pentagon is hit. Military families around the world know what is happening. They've devoted their lives to defending this country, and now command central has been attacked.
9:59 - the South Tower collapses. Phone lines jam - anyone that hasn't heard from their loved one fears the worst.
10:07 - a plane crashes in Shanksville, PA, along with some brave men and women who did their best to avoid more loss of life.
10:28 - the North Tower collapses. Chaos reins.
To people that have experienced tragic loss, the timeline isn't so much about documenting the events of that day, but a series of 'what ifs' and 'where was I at this moment', or 'what would (loved one) have been doing at this time. It's a gut-wrenching annual ritual of time and space and remembrance. There is no way to make it stop - it plays in your head like a video.
Tonight I will hug my boys a little tighter, and be thankful that I am here for them.
