The phone rings. My husband James, at work, trying to read, as he does every day, the New York Times online. Can't get through to the website, for some reason. One headline finally shows up on his screen: Plane Hits World Trade Center. He calls to tell me, and says it's a terrorist attack. No way. It's just a terrible accident, a plane crash, no way it is intentional. I turn on the tv. It's on every channel. Goosebumps break out all over my body. I slump down on the couch. I tell him that a 2nd plane has hit the other tower. They show it at that moment on tv, the plane smashing into the tall glass tower. Billowing flame and smoke. I start to cry softly, gasping out to James what I am seeing. He has no tv nearby and can't see the images. We continue to talk as I tell him what I see and hear on the news report. We hang up and I continue to watch, stunned. Then I hear that the Pentagon has been hit. I call James and plead for him to come home. I am so scared now. What's next? What is the next target? Where are they? Who are they? Come out, come out, wherever you are! I sit numbly in front of the tv. I try to work. But can't stop the images, the horror, the awful words the newscasters utter. How can this be happening? Not in America!

I wasn't born til the early '60's, so this is new to me: being attacked. I remember being scared as a child in San Antonio, during other times of potential danger: Cuban Missile Crisis, Cold War, etc. - we were surrounded by a half dozen military bases, any or all of which could have been targetted. But it never happened. It was just a threat.

This is real.

I want to go get my kids from school, sit with them and hold them and never let go. But they're oblivious to this, happily going about their day, playing with friends, continuing in their innocence. As they should be.

As we all should be.