It's 13 years since 9/11. Thirteen years. Amazing. There are children in High School who were born after that horrific day, moving rapidly towards adulthood, for whom it's as puzzling a piece of history as WW2.
For those of us who are slightly older than that (as I hope you are, dear reader. If you're not, go outside and play!), will any of us ever forget what we were doing when we heard the news? I was working at a temp job in Bradford, that I wasn't particularly enjoying. One of my colleagues' sisters was on a flight to the US at the time of the first crash, so you can probably imagine the tension we were experiencing. Their plane was turned around and returned to the UK, but it took a few hours before we heard anything. I remember crowding round the boss's computer (he had internet access, the rest of us didn't) watching the grainy pictures come in as the first tower fell, and the disbelief that passed through us. It didn't look real. Even now, it's hard to picture how something so big, and so stable could suddenly just not be there.
It seems a long time ago, in another online life, where a good friend of mine would remember those who lost their lives in the attack by reproducing all their names in a post on a message board. We lost that friend himself a few years ago, so this post is in memoriam of him as well.
I look down the list of names, and find someone who shares an unusual name in my family, and wonder - were they a cousin I never met? They all had families, they all had stories to share. And I see the names of women listed with their unborn children. Of course, amongst almost 3000 people, there were bound to be pregnant women, babies who were robbed of their chance at life.