From the diary-x archives:
I don't really understand why I'm trying to write a journal entry at a time like this. Perhaps an attempt to gather my jumbled thoughts will help me to make some sense of the insanity. I don't know... For whatever reasons, I just feel the need to do this.
Earlier this morning, I was on my way to the social studies office to get a cup of coffee when I passed a teacher in the hall. He asked if I had heard about the World Trade Center. I hadn't, and he filled me in. Since then, I've been able to concentrate on little else. I spent much of the day in the Media Center, a room off the back of the library equipped with a television. I watched the events unfold along with other staff members who came in during their free periods.
I watched in stunned disbelief as the second plane crashed into the south tower. I watched the subsequent, fiery explosion. I watched the billowing black smoke. I watched as first one tower collapsed, and, then, a little later, the other. I watched parts of The Pentagon crumble. I watched those scenes over and over, not able to comprehend what my eyes were focused on. I watched in fear. I watched with a heavy heart.
I worried about our National Security being compromised, and I felt my own personal sense of safety shatter. I wanted desperately to be with my children. I wanted to answer their questions and hold them in my arms. I wanted to tell them everything will be all right.
When I got home, I did answer my daughters' questions (to the best of my ability), and I did hold them in my arms. But I didn't tell them everything will be all right. How can I?
The horror... the horror.