Patheos is publishing a number of essays to mark the 10-year anniversary of 9/11.
Mine begins on the morning after:
On the morning of September 12, 2001, I awoke to the sound of sirens.
My first thought, in bleary half-sleep:“Where am I?”
And then I knew.
I looked around at the pale walls of a high rise hotel on Manhattan’s west side, and remembered that almost 24 hours earlier, on a blindingly beautiful late summer morning, in the start of an otherwise ordinary day, my country and my city had been attacked. I was in a hotel room because it was impossible for me to get home and there was no place else for me to stay.I climbed out of bed and looked out the window. It was a gorgeous day, just like the one before. On the sidewalk, a dozen or more stories below, there were people heading to work. I saw a few cars moving down below. And then the sirens got louder. An ambulance? A fire truck? The sound grew and then faded. I picked up my watch from the table by the bed. It was just after 7 a.m.