Then, I learned that we were attacked. That second plane hit and my thoughts turned to myself, to my unborn child. All I could think about was my child's future. This would lead to war, a war that could rage for decades. A deep fear set within me. I could be bringing into this troubled world, a child that would live with the repercussions of this event. My child could end up fighting in a war, forced into a life of survival. Dear God...
I remember walking away from everyone for a moment to just let the tears flow. I prayed that my child would not suffer from actions that I could not change. Already, I was unable to protect my child and he wasn't even born yet. What would happen next?
It was time to think of others though. The future was uncertain, but it was time to think of those suffering at the the present time. I pulled myself to together and carried on with my day, trying to learn as much as possible about what was going on outside my little office.
Though it was hard to find much to smile about in those following weeks, I can now look back at that time and be thankful for what I have. My son, now 9 years old, is learning about 9/11 in school. He asks questions about what happened then, but I'll never tell him the fear that struck through me that day about what his life could've been like. When he wears his scouts uniform, I smile at how handsome he looks and proud he feels, but I am still struck with the thought "Please, let this be the last uniform he wears." More than ever, today I am grateful that he and his sister carry a smile on their faces and have a life that I feared may not have existed.