I’m arriving late today. But let me share, if I may.

I live in the middle of the Midwest. I’m no where near New York, and I have no friends or family there. I have no reason to be interested in New York or look at it other than a commercial center.

Until 9/11.

On that day, I was working at home, telecommuting and trying to get some writing done. I don’t know why the TV was on; I think someone from work had emailed everyone just after the first tower had been hit, so I turned on the TV and saw the horror before me. I was shocked at what happened, and assumed at first as many did that it was an aviation accident, a fluke of a computer or a pilot who wasn’t aware.

Until the second plane hit.

And my horror turned to shock at what I had seen. From then on, I could not move away from the TV, looking at the videos and watching the people and the ash falling. I started praying, I think, trying to push people with my feeble mind to get away from the towers, to move away and get to safety—if there was any.

And then the tower fell.

And my shock went numb. I could not process what I had seen, could not believe what was going on miles away. I sat there and cried and knew that while I was supposed to be working, I couldn’t.

Maybe my memories of that day have changed over the years, but one thing is certain: I do not want us to forget. I do not want us to go back to the way we used to handle security in this nation. I want us to be serious about those who are dedicated to hurting us, and I want them stopped.

For good.