Ten years ago I was a junior in college. Tan and skinny (for me) from my summer job as a Girl Scout camp counselor. Living at the sorority house, pretty sure I was dating the love of my life (I married him almost exactly two years later).
Life was good.
Figuring out what I was wearing to the bar was my biggest concern.
On the second Tuesday of school, another student arrived a few minutes late to our 9 AM journalism class. He looked at our professor and and said "A plane just hit the World Trade Center."
There were no iPhones, and the tv in our room was just for videos. So as a class we walked across campus to find a television. We tuned in just as the first tower fell.
Class was dismissed early, so I walked up the hill to my boyfriend's house.
There were no tears in the Delta Sig house, at least not from the boys. But it was eerily quiet and somber. Everyone was glued to their tvs. No one knew what would happen. We all felt a little secure, we were stuck at the tip of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, after all.
In God's Country...we were safe there, right?
I wasn't so sure. I remember being so very very worried about my family in Detroit. I was worried about rioting, or another attack.
I remember everything felt really surreal, like the only thing really happening was on CNN. I know I called my mom, I went back to my house and we watched the coverage some more. I can't remember when we turned off the coverage and turned on the Lifetime movies, but I know we did.
We all needed a break.
That evening we headed to church to pray the Rosary.
It was so calming.
Ten years later we were in church again.
This morning's readings were all about forgiveness. Our Priest reminded us that the readings are a set rotation, not picked especially for this anniversary.
May we remember. May we forgive.