Twelve years have passed and still, sadness

I plainly remember the man next door calling me to the hallway and telling me to turn on the news. . .that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers.  I was teaching a group of really fantastic seniors.

I did as I was told and then watched in absolute horror.  My students were stunned.  There were no answers for what we were seeing.

After we learned of the crashes outside of New York City, one of the boys grabbed a globe and predicted which city would be hit next. 

The bell rang for them to move to their next class.  My next group of kids was mostly senior guys.  We all gasped as we watched the towers come down.

Stunning.

Now, even after all the years I find it difficult to watch the stories from that day.  The emotions are still too raw.  My oldest has very vague memories of that entire week--she called them the grey days because that's all we saw on TV for 5 days straight. . .the grey remnants of an entire way of life lost on that day.

We haven't forgotten.  Life has gone on but nothing like it was before that terrible morning.

We remember.  We cry.  We pray.