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Three weeks out of major surgery found me sleeping in my bed that fateful day:

My young son came running in the house
screaming "New York is on fire!"

Barely awake, I yelled- "What?"
and turned on CNN to see the horror.

Jolted awake, clutching my son
we sat in bed together, eyes transfixed
to the scene before us.

My beloved New York City, under attack
and then the second plane hit; more terror.

I remember telling my son- "Baby, this is war!"
He didn't reply as he sat with innocent and pure eyes open wide.

My own pain all but forgotten, I sat,
I cried, I was mute as I felt...
I felt true shock and awe.

I was wishing with everything in me to be there,
yet all I could do was watch, and watch some more. Watch... and wait.

I felt their pain, I smelled their fear.
I knew that everything had changed.

Not just for me, or just for them,
but for all who had been touched.

Now even with my daily woes, still I remember
what I still have, and what they don't.

I still feel their pain and their loss.
No... I'll never forget.