On the morning of September 11, 2001, I woke up and turned on my clock radio, which was set to NPR, so that I could listen to the news while I woke up.   What I heard was utter pandemonium.  Something about planes, and smoke, and the Pentagon being on fire, and the White House possibly under attack.  I hoped it was a prank of some sort, like War of the Worlds or something, but it certainly sounded as if something big was happening, so I rubbed my eyes, got out of bed, and shuffled into the living room to turn on the TV.

I sat watching, glued to the screen, for the next five hours.  I was horrified and a little choked up, wondering what in the world was happening.  When I went to work that afternoon, everyone else was freaking out too.  We all wore headphones and listened to the news as it unfolded.  Our hearts went out to the people whose lives were lost, and to our friends and family members who lost friends and family members in the events of that tragic day.  In a larger sense, the country continues to mourn a certain kind of innocence that we lost, never to be regained.

I still can’t believe that it’s been eight years since all that occurred.  The world is so very different than it was on September 10, 2001.