Seven Years...

"Where were you when the world stopped turning, that September day?"

That Alan Jackson song has been in my head all morning. I still remember as if it was yesterday.

Melissa and I were in the car driving to work from Cayucos. We had Mark and Brian turned down low and I was listening to her vent about her boyfriend. We'd just passed Cuesta College when something in the tone of the usually hyper DJ's struck me as odd. We turned up the radio and listened as the two urged people to drive carefully, to pick up their children from school if they felt it was needed and to please remain calm. My mind flashed back to Columbine. School had only been in session a week or so and I remember praying, "Please don't let it be a school shooting." It wasn't.

In shock, I heard what most of California had already learned. Two planes had hit the World Trade Centers. I looked at Melissa and said, "There are so many people working there." My eyes welled up and teardrops fell as I remember the Oklahoma bombing and the devastation it had caused.

I dropped Melissa off, squeezing her hand in farewell. We still knew so little. I walked into work and rushed to my boss's office - the only room with a TV. I pushed my way through the crowd surrounding the tiny television and stared, seeing, for the first time, the images now ingrained in our national conscience. The two towers still stood, smoke billowing. Reporters questioning, replaying the plane hits, reeling with confusion.

As we watched, first one, then the other tower fell. As they tumbled, a co-worker put her hand over her mouth and cried. My boss ran his hands through his hair and said, "Their EOC was in the building."

We stayed in the office for a couple hours as the nation's grief swelled. My arms ached for my loved ones, my mind for calm, my spirit for relief. I prayed.

Now, seven years later, on another clear September day, I drove to work remembering. I sit at my desk remembering. I remember the pain and the grief. I remember the terror and the confusion. But I also remember that for that one time, that one brief moment in history, our nation was truly united. I remember scenes of doctors and nurses lining New York streets. I remember firefighters and police officers driving cross country to help. I remember lining up to give blood for survivors that were never found. I remember giving money to those to whom it was a small consolation for lost loved ones. I remember stories of love, hope and courage.

I remember.