It’s been 12 years since the two hijacked planes hit the Twin Towers — followed by another in the Pentagon and one in a field in Pennsylvania. And like everyone else, I can remember most of what I was doing that morning.
Our family was living in Coeur d’Alene and as usual, I woke up to my alarm and Cat Country music on the radio.
They were talking about a plane hitting the tower.
They didn’t know what kind of plane but were assuming it was a small plane that missed turning and had an accident. Then the eye-witness accounts started rolling in.
Was it a jet liner? Was it an accident? Or was it intentional? But who would do that?
The words “terrorist attack” started bubbling up all over the radio. I got up and went downstairs to turn on the TV. The boys were just getting up for school. I explained that something bad had happened and that we needed to watch.
I remember my son Nick saying that we were watching history take place. He was right.
The second plane hit. We watched in horror — live. Oh my God!
I felt sick. Overwhelmed. Uncertain. Scared.
I took the boys to school and then went to work, but don’t remember much beyond that — except that the news was confirming it was a terrorist attack.
The news kept getting worse as information about other hijacked planes and murdered Americans rolled in.
We were all gripped with fear, panic and anger.
A month later, a war would start in Afghanistan as a result of that horrific act of terror — then spread to Iraq by March 2003.
I had no idea that nine years later my then-11-year-old son Nick would go to that faraway place — and die there when an IED hit his convoy.
That IED was planted by the same type of monsters that attacked us back home.
Nick was the 4,471st U.S. casualty in Iraq since March 2003.
I love you Nick — and miss you more and more every second…
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Theresa Hart is a resident of Hayden.