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I was having my morning coffee before work and turned on the TV. The first tower had just been hit. I watched as the second one was hit. I can't remember what was going through my mind. I think I was just numb and couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. Nobody knew anything yet.
Two things stand out in my mind from that morning. One was the weather. It was the most glorious Fall day. The sky was such a clear, brilliant shade of blue, it almost hurt your eyes to look at it, and it was sunny, but cool. Perfect weather, the kind we rarely get here in Chicago. Ever since, a glorious brilliant September morning like that gives me just the tiniest little chill for a moment when I first walk outside. I suppose it always will.
The other thing that will stay with me from that morning is the call I got from my mother. She was crying.
Now, my mother was a very tough cookie. She was very cold, unemotional, kind of like the Mary Tyler Moore character in Ordinary People. Appearances were everything. You didn't step out your door without every hair in place, all of your make-up on, perfectly dressed, you were cordial but quiet and never effusive, and you kept a cool, controlled demeanor, no matter what. No matter what kind of heartbreak or pain you were experiencing, you kept it to yourself. Discounting the deaths of immediate family members, I could count on one hand the number of times I ever saw or heard my mother cry.
September 11, 2001 was one of those times.
"We were attacked", she kept repeating, "It's war. It's war"
My mother was 13 years old when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I suppose she must have felt the same way that day, reliving it.
I lost my mom four years ago, and every time I think of 9/11, I think of her, and I mourn.
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