Editor's note: The following is a retrospective vignette remembering the events of Sept. 11, 2001, in light of the death of Osama bin Laden.
I remember getting a phone call early on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. "Honey," my husband said urgently, "you've got to get up and turn on the news."
I'd been up with a young child during the night before, and I was groggy. However, I was jolted awake immediately by what I saw and heard on TV.
I'll never forget the pit in my stomach I felt as the news of the terrorist attacks unfolded. It was almost surreal -- I couldn't believe the United States of America had fallen victim to such a vicious, premeditated and devastating attack. I felt like throwing up. Although I didn't have friends or relatives at Ground Zero, I was sick at heart for everyone who did. I felt personally violated; like my world and the future of my children would be changed forever.
I remember thinking back to a conference I had attended at the US Naval Academy in 1995. Back then, I'd been a senior in college, majoring in political science. I'd been invited to attend a symposium and present a paper at a student conference on terrorism and international affairs, and I still remember the name of my paper -- "Terror-defined politics, still shaping the future of the Gaza Strip." I was young and idealistic back then. Terrorism, in all its ugly forms, was foreign to me, an abysmal yet faraway glimpse of the worst of humanity. I never thought an attack like 9/11 would happen her. But sickeningly, it did.
Throughout the morning hours, I continued to watch the news, horrified at was I was seeing. I was particularly impacted by the images I saw of people jumping to their deaths from the burning Twin Towers. I couldn't imagine how terrifying it must have been inside those buildings, what must have convinced people that jumping to a certain death was their best option.
I had two young children in 2001, and that day in September was the first time I realized that I needed to be vigilant in protecting them from news that would frighten them, from stories they couldn't comprehend. Although I was riveted to the television, I had to step away when my little boy, who was four at the time, started asking questions: "What's happening, Mama? Why did the bad guys crash a plane into the building? Are all of those people going to die?"
This morning, I asked my boy, who is now 14, if he remembered 9/11. He recalled seeing the images on TV and wondering "what the heck was happening." He doesn't remember that he had nightmares for a while. He doesn't remember how many times he asked me if bad guys would ever crash an airplane into our house. I wish I had turned the television off sooner so he didn't have to be afraid.
Over the years since 9/11, we've taken our children to visit some of the Healing Field displays that have been established in memory of the victims and heroes of that tragic day. Although I've always felt like a patriotic person, like someone who is generally well-informed, the War on Terror became much more personal to me when my brother, who serves in the U.S. Army, fulfilled a tour of duty in Iraq. Thankfully, my brother made it home, but there are so many soldiers who didn't. As I think about them and as I've had the opportunity to interview some of their loved ones, I am proud of our armed forces for standing up to terrorism and for telling the world that we will not be broken. I feel indebted to those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in protecting the values America holds dear.
On Sunday night, I turned on the television right as President Obama was stepping up to the podium to speak. Again, I was riveted to the TV. Once I understood what was going on, I called my children -- five of them, now -- in to listen ...