September 11

10 years ago, I was getting ready for work when I heard that a "small plane" had hit the World Trade tower. I turned on the TV in the back bedroom in time to see the 2nd plane hit the tower. "That's no accident," I thought, but had no idea at the time just what was going on . . . much like you all. As I went through my day of visits to hospice patients, I saw the same news reports repeated over and over. It seemed like there was no respite from the horror. By early afternoon, I remember feeling just overwhelmed and wanted to go somewhere quiet to gather my thoughts. I went to my church, only to find the doors locked. (I guess they had closed the office and sent everyone home.)  I went to a nearby church, St Vincent's (in Bedford TX) and found several other people in the sanctuary, probably for the same reasons. We didn't speak, but nodded to each other in sad acknowledgment. After a few minutes, I left and went on to finish the rest of my visits. On every September 11th, I think of the people who died . . . the people who were just going about their every day lives and the rescue workers who made the ultimate sacrifice to help others. I especially think of my nursing school classmate, Jean Hoadley Peterson, who was on United flight 93. We must never forget.