On September 9, 2001, I took a flight from JFK to LAX at 8am. I had been in NYC for four days visiting my best friend who lived in the East Village. I was having such a blast hanging with my college friends and enjoying every part of the city-so much so that my best friend persuaded me to stay until Tuesday. We looked up a flight change, but I decided against it only because I was eager to get back home to see the guy I had been dating.
I think often of those days spent in NYC. The energy in the air was palpable. The city was so alive. Less than 48 hours after I got home to LA, the world changed forever.
Everyone has their 9/11 story; those of us who lived it will never forget the horror that day. It feels like yesterday I was staring at the TV in disbelief, weeping and utterly confused by the nightmare I was witnessing. I have an ache in my heart and gut every anniversary of this terrible, nightmarish day.
Six years later I would move to NYC with my husband, and five years after that would go on to have our children here. In fact the very apartment we live in has a balcony that looks directly at the new World Trade Center. Last night we went outside and looked up at the two beams of light in the sky and quietly remembered all that was.
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