Eight Years

Eight years ago this morning, we all know what happened. The world changed forever.

I was working downtown. My then business partner was the first to announce the news. We tried to keep working, not knowing the news would continue to worsen throughout the day. I actually was able to talk to my brother D, who was working in Soho that morning, after the first plane. That was before things got super chaotic. He said he the air was smoky and that it was glistening with shards of glass. He and his roommate ended up walking home to Brooklyn out of fear of what might happen next.

We closed the office around 10:30 or 11:00 a.m.

I wasn't sure what to do next. It didn't seem right to be alone or to not be watching the drama unfold on TV. I didn't have cable at the time and wanted to know what was going on. The ex and I shuffled over to my dear friend A's aparment. I think we sat with her into the early evening watching the televised hell that was lower Manhattan eight years ago.

I remember the disbelief that something so horrible could have happened. I still have trouble believing. Conspiracy theories abound. Whatever really happened and no matter who was actually behind the horrors of that day eight years ago, they are truly evil.

In the wake of that day, I also remember savoring every minute I spent with the people I love. I did not want to take any interaction for granted. It had become all too clear that it could be the very last time.

We only have today, the moment we're in. I want to remember that. I want to savor today and every day for my own sake and in memory of everyone who died eight years ago.