For those who remember the crisp fall morning of Sept. 11, 2001, how by 10:03 a.m. the day turned to Hell, and how we watched the brutal, televised murders of 2,977 people, the atrocities are seared into our memories.
A well-funded, wickedly trained team of 19 savage Islamic terrorists brought a fight to our soil that Americans did not know we were involved in.
In New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, people of a certain age recall the acrid taste in the air and the strange haze from the thick cloud of fine dust that hung over the city for days after the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers were toppled.
Crossings in and out of New York City were closed. Children wondered when their parents would come home. Some never did.
In New Jersey, a long line of people snaked around the parking lot at a Red Cross and waited hours to donate blood, only to learn there were fewer injuries than blood donors. Victims either escaped from the Twin Towers or died.
Traffic was light on Sept. 12, but those who commuted to work noticed many drivers had put the stars and stripes on their vehicles. The American flag was suddenly flying everywhere, and the sight of it evoked strong emotions, even tears. Americans collectively experienced shocking trauma. Aside from cleaning up the body-strewn debris and mourn, there was not much we could do or say in the face of such evil. Our beautiful flag
