I was working just outside the Loop in Chicago. I heard about everything from my colleagues in our UK office. Mom called to tell me the first tower went down. I went over to the East Bank Club to watch TV in the women's locker room; it was jam-packed. Downtown Chicago was evacuated because of rumors that the Sears Tower was "next." The El was packed to the rafters, yet utterly silent. I got home, tried to get in contact with DeeAnn and listened as air traffic to O'Hare came to a stop. My parents called to say that Kit (then-Lt. Colonel in the Air Force) was supposed to be at her office in the Pentagon that week for meetings; no one had yet heard from her. Dee got home mid-afternoon and we went to Justin's with John Marrero and Reichle; we stayed glued to the patio TV all afternoon for breaking news updates. We made absolute certain that we were home by 8 p.m. to watch the president's address to the nation; you could hear the same address echoing from open windows of every single house on Paulina Street. We cried. A lot.
Seven years ago. Hard to believe.
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On 9/11/01, Ruth Heffron was in her last days, dying of breast cancer, confined to her bed. We spent a lot of time with her on 9/11, but wanted desperately to know what was happening in NYC, too. Either way, we all were dealing with death. I think of Ruth everyday, but, sadly, don't think often enough of the thousands who died in NY. Sad to think how immune we all have gotten to this kind of terrorism. --Mom
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