It was a usual Tuesday morning in September. As I loaded my granddaughter into the van to take her to pre-school the lady on the radio was getting ready to do a health report because the date was 9-1-1.

Before she could give the report the announcer said there had been a plane crash into a building at the World Trade Center. I thought it was a small Piper Cub or something like that.

I got her to pre-school and dropped her off and as I was going down the street I heard this might have been a deliberate act.

I got home as soon as I could and turned on the television in time to see the second plane cut through the building. This is when I knew we were under attack, and I followed until I heard of the Pentagon attack and the crashed plane in Pennsylvania.

My neighbor called to tell me to watch the TV, but I was already doing that.

It was one of those days that is seared in your memory, like where you were when JFK was shot, Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed and Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. Too much violence in one person’s lifetime.

I gave blood, but they didn’t need it for this emergency.

Let us remember those who died just because they went to work that day and the firemen and police officers who willingly went into the fires of hell to try to save as many lives as possible.

I can almost taste the cement dust cutting off the air to my lungs, and I still mourn and hurt for the victims and our innocence as a country.

In loving memory of those who lost their lives and those who risked theirs to save others: