Where we were that day:
I was 6 months pregnant with my first daughter, working in a hospital genetics laboratory in Chicago. My husband was laid off and at home. I got a phone call from him when the first plane hit, before anyone in my lab had heard anything.
He called after the first plane hit, but then said the media reported it was an accident. He wasn’t too concerned for me. I hung up the phone and turned to tell my colleagues. We were talking about it and then it quickly spread through the other sections.
My husband soon called back to tell me about the second plane and was anxious to have to come home, because by then they knew it wasn’t an accident and that they were probably targeting other cities. I told him that even though I didn’t like being apart from him, I was in the best place I could be if a terror attack hit our city: a hospital. I told him I would stay until they told us to go home. I really did not relish the idea of coming home on the train…even though it was the only option I had…because that may have been a target too.
But as I hung up the phone that second time, I remember thinking, if I had to die that day, at least I knew what it was like to have gotten pregnant and feel my babies kicks and pokes. I cradled my swollen belly and was grateful that even if I had to die, I was not truly alone. I felt incredibly comforted by that thought.
Our oldest is 9 years and 9 months old. In a few days, our middle daughter will be 8. Our youngest, 6.5.
How we spent the 10 year anniversary of 9-11:
Feeling connected to life.
How was your day?