On that awful morning, I had just settled down at my desk when a coworker rushed into my office and said "A plane just hit the World Trade Center!". Our first thoughts were that it was some air traffic control error but minutes later we found out that it was much worse than that. The next few minutes I, along with the rest of the world, were frantically trying to get more information any way possible. I was able to get through to a few news web sites even though they were swamped. Others in the office were scrambling to get the television from the conference room close enough to the window so the antenna would work. Once the TV was on, a fairly large crowd gathered to watch in horror the havoc and tragedy the terrorists had wreaked upon us. I was filled with sadness, outrage, and anger. Sadness for all the people who lost their lives, for the children who no longer had someone to kiss them goodnight. Outrage that anyone would attack the land of the free, the home of the brave. Anger, a burning anger, at those responsible. Anger so fierce that I was ready to accept the consequenses of our nation retaliating with one or more nukes.

As more and more news and conjecture poured in, I felt that I should be at home with my family so that we could draw strength and comfort from each other. I listened to