On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I was in the city sitting at my desk when my husband phoned to tell me that something had happened in New York. One of the people in his office was on the phone with someone in one of the towers when the plane hit.
I was late for a meeting with my boss and so we didn’t talk for very long. But what he told me was troubling and so when I got to the meeting I was distracted and apologized for my difficulty in focusing. My boss had not yet heard the news.
As the day went on, the full horror of what happened in New York became clearer and when I heard that a plane had also ploughed into the Pentagon I knew that the U.S. was under attack.
All day at work, we watched television on and off, shocked and stunned.
We all knew that that was the day the world had changed forever.
I planted a tree to honour the people who died that day. A blue spruce because that is one of my favourites. It sits just above our cottage located on an island in the middle of the river that runs between Canada and the U.S.
I often thought about writing to somebody down there to tell them there was this little memorial but I could never figure out, or more accurately decide, who that would be.