I was two weeks away from my eighth birthday. I remember that my grandmother called my mom and told her to turn on the news. She didn’t watch for very long because my younger brother and I were in the room, but I knew the general idea of what was happening. At that time my dad was an aircraft mechanic, so even though he worked in Atlanta I thought that my daddy must be on one of those planes. Mum had to call him at work and let me talk to him to calm me down.
The next Sunday my church had a poster board up in the narthex with pictures of parishioners and family and friends of parishioners who had died. I remember my mother pointing out a woman she knew.