When I awoke for work, similarly as I am now, preparing my homemade espresso mocha drink that I'd take with me (vs. spending it at StarYucks) is when I flipped on the news and saw the devastation unfolding. At the time, I lived in Virginia Beach, near Norfolk, and only 3 1/2 hours from D.C. I saw the planes hit, on live television, and it gave me an unsurreal sense of being there.
I have friends who work near the Pentagon. I called trying to get a hold of them, hoping they were safe. One rolling wave of horror and disbelief after another, coupled with shaky nerves and butterflies. I couldn't move myself to go to work that day. I was glued to the television, watching the telecasts, the national coverage that was on every channel. In disbelief and shock, I felt fear like I hadn't experienced before.
I'm grateful to live in this country where we are usually so protected compared to other nations. In spite of 9/11, the journey of getting through that day has carried on and resonates on each anniversary. I'm quite proud to be an American. I hold the memory so dear to serve a justice, if you will, for those who lost their lives.