During a lunch break last week, a few of my co-workers and I were remembering where we were when John F. Kennedy was shot (for all but one of us, not yet born), what we remembered about the day the Space Shuttle exploded (three of us were sophomores in college), and finally, what we remembered about September 11, 2001 (the youngest of us was in fourth grade).
It’s interesting to pause and remember the days when we could freely meet friends and family members at the gate of their arriving flights, or when we didn’t need to remove our shoes or empty water bottles to go through airport security. When it wasn’t a jolt to see a an image picturing the Twin Towers as if they are a matter-of-fact part of New York City’s skyline.
And when I look at this picture of me with my cousin Cheri and my Aunt Sonia, I remember the Mother’s Day trip we took (along with my mom and Cheri’s mom, my Aunt Helen) to visit my brother Vern in New York City in May of 2000.
Here we are enjoying a leisurely dinner at Windows on the World, on the top floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, a little over a year before the world changed forever.
Here’s the post I wrote three years ago, on the tenth anniversary of The Day that Changed Everything.