This piece combines two separate stories of the same event: my own horror and the terror that faced a loved one on one of the most devastating days in United States history.

He felt the explosion before he heard it: the walls vibrated, his desk shook, his heart leapt to his throat, palms growing sweaty, fearing the worst. And when the noise came, he truly believed an atomic bomb had been dropped on the city.

We lined up outside in perfectly organized rows according to grade. The fire alarm had sounded minutes earlier. A routine drill. We talked and laughed, enjoying the unexpected break from the classroom, soaking up the warm autumn sun.

Ceiling tiles fell around him. Smoke and dust began to pour into his lungs and burn his eyes. Screams and cries filled his ears.

Back inside, a teacher told us the news. Students began to panic. I frantically tried to locate a telephone. Continue Reading