On September 11, 2001, my husband and I were in Midtown NYC, getting ready
to film a segment of a national talk show.
I was ironing my husband's shirt while he showered. The television was
on...I watched Good Morning, America.
For a brief moment the lights flickered, then resumed.
Moments later, the image on the television screen changed.
As did our world.
That day, as we frantically tried to reach family members
to tell them we were okay, just 3 miles down the road
chaos was breaking out.
People were losing their lives.
Families were losing loved one.
Those who survived would never be the same.
That afternoon, when our cellphone service returned,
Dennis and I listened to 40 messages (our mailbox was full) from 33 different callers.
All were crying.
"Please be okay...please call me back..."
I remember how my father's voice held all the strength I needed to get through.
I remember how my mother cried when she heard me say, "Mother, I'm all right"
Just before she collapsed and was driven home from work
by her pastor who had come to make sure she was okay.
I remember not wanting to be separated from my children
but having no way to get to them.
I remember how I huddled in the bathroom during the thunderstorm that night
because I was afraid of the bombs I thought the thunder brought.
I feel personally vindicated by the death of Osama bid Laden.
As an individual. As a daughter. As a mother. As a sister
and as a friend.
Most especially as an American.
This Friday, I'll once again be in an airport.
I will do what I always do while traveling, I'll see men and women
dressed in uniform and I'll say, "Thank you."
But this time, I'll say it with a few more tears in my eyes
and a little more pride in my heart.
It took nearly ten years, boys and girls,
but we did it.
We did it.
We said we would and we did.
God bless the USA.