Remembering those who died on 9/11

My grandmother's black stove and her tiny kitchen is the backdrop for something I remember vividly. The start of the Korean War had just been announced, and I was very upset. At 11 years old I had surmised that it could be the end of the Earth, the beginning of the great desolation.

Mother came into the kitchen and noticed my distress. Between gasps and gulps I began telling her of my fears, the greatest one being I would never be able to grow up and have children of my own.

Here I am a grandmother almost 25 times over, so my fears were unfounded, but at the time they were very real and troublesome.

Since that time there have been a number of disturbing wars and events that could cause an 11 year old, and older of course, to worry and wonder why these events take place — the "why can't we just get along and not blow each other up" kinds of thoughts.

Two days ago we remembered the catastrophic event of Sept. 11, 2001. Every American old enough to have witnessed that horrific event will never forget where we were as we watched the horror unfold on television.

In my case I was at my son Michael's house, holding one of his children, watching a morning children's show when it was interrupted by scenes of the first plane hitting the tower. At that time they weren't sure just what was happening, then little by little came the disquieting facts until the towers fell and the smoke and dust billowed up.

A few days later I flew to New York City. The airport was like a morgue. There was no laughing, only the sounds of the machines doing their work. Waiting for the airplane was worrisome. Everyone was wondering if we would meet the fate of what had happened a few days before.

The airplane ride was eerily quiet. When we landed safely at JFK everyone let out a sigh of relief and applauded.

The next day my husband, Grit, and I went down to Todd's Point, about 20 miles from the tip of Manhattan Island. Smoke was rising but there were no twin towers on the horizon.

One year Grit and our son Tom went on a Boy Scout hike through lower Manhattan and the troop slept on top of those towers.

Just a few weeks before the disaster I had taken our son Jim and his now wife, Shamberlin, into the city to show her some of the sights.