On September 11, 2001, I was sitting at my desk on the top floor of the Minnesota Department of Transportation Building, adjacent to the State Capitol. My desk phone rang - no one had cell phones! - and when I answered, my husband - who never called me at work! - said, "I'm watching the morning news and they said a plane hit the World Trade Center." I pictured a little private plane with an inexperienced pilot, but my "How sad" turned to "Oh no!" when William went on to say it was a commercial jet. William was a commercial airline pilot at the time and though he was safely at home, he had many pilot friends. We were going down the list of people we wanted to check on when he gasped and said, "Another plane just hit." A clammy awareness washed over me and I said, "That's not an accident, then." He said, "No."

We sat in silence while he watched on tv and I kept the phone glued to my ear.

For those who remember, I don't have to tell you how eerie the day was. It was surreal to hear my unflappable and always stoic boss tell my suit-mate and I to move into the conference room so we weren't sitting by the window - would the Capitol Building be hit? - and to see coworkers huddled around the television that had been wheeled in, with their hands over their faces. As horror unfolded, people started going home, one by one to hug loved ones. William and I spent much of the afternoon and evening trying to reach my brother-in-law, who had been set to fly out of Boston that morning (he was safe, though stuck in Boston for the next three days), and our dear friends who worked at One Liberty Plaza, directly across from the WTC. Well into the night we learned they were physically safe - they had walked back to Brooklyn from Manhattan - but saw unspeakable things at the towers that morning.

If you're old enough to remember, you, too, know exactly where you were, too. You remember that perfectly blue sky, the waiting for news, the eerie silence when planes were grounded. You may also remember the feeling of love, compassion, and connection to one another that we all experienced in the days right after. That sacred bit of time when we were just a bit more gentle with one another. A bit more kind. Those few days when we were more careful about checking in with each other; more careful with each others hearts. Life felt more precious.

I wonder if part of God's dream for us is that we understand that each day we're alive here on Earth, our lives are bound up with each other's. That each day could be treated as a sacred bit of time we have to be more gentle with one another's hearts. My prayer for each of us, this week and always, is the flip side of Never Forget. it's to Always Remember. Honor the pain and loss, of course. But remember, and live, the love.

Blessings,
Jennifer