13 years ago, I was still living in Australia. I had just gotten out of the shower, when my friend Einid called me, and told me that a plane had crashed into a building in the US - and she insisted that I turn the telly on.
I didn't think too much of it, thinking it was an air show crash or something, but I turned the TV on, and dropped straight to my knees. I swear I didn't move from that spot for what literally turned out to be hours.
My first thought was my son Josh... and I tried frantically calling the US, while still kneeling there on the floor watching the TV.... but I couldn't get through.
I didn't know where Josh was, and although I knew somewhere in the deep reaches of my mind, that he wasn't in NY, my heart was still frozen with dread. All I wanted, was to hear my son's voice - and to know that he was okay.
It took 3 days before I could finally get a call through to my Dad, and once he had assured me that my son was okay, I could finally start to process the horror that we, as Americans, had gone through.
