I’m on the west coast, so it was around 6-ish in the morning here. The captain was working locally in the harbor, and had left about 5:15 a.m. I was doing my normal thing, washing dishes, drinking a cup of coffee, and getting ready for work as marketing manager for a catering company. My son was home from college for some reason I can’t recollect right now, but he was asleep. I glanced over at the television and saw breaking news alerts and a picture of smoke billowing from a tall building. I had an ominous sense of foreboding and dropped what I was doing to pay full attention. What I heard and saw could absolutely not be true, but it most tragically was true and was happening right before my eyes and the eyes of the world. I started to become frightened. What did it mean? Were we under attack? What was I supposed to do? I ran upstairs to gently rouse my son. I told him he should come down and watch the news with me; it seemed that something terrible was going on all over the country. He came down and we sat side by side on the sofa and kept saying, “Oh no, oh no, oh no”. Together we watched the second tower come down. At this point, I was officially freaked out and thought of the vulnerable position of our Navy and our harbor. I called the captain on his cell to make sure he was OK and to find out if he knew what was going on and if there were any plans he was involved in to protect our city. He was talking about all vessels being moved out of the harbor–out of potential harm’s way–but he couldn’t talk, and he’d call when he could. I didn’t go to work that day; we were glued to the TV. I didn’t have any friends or relatives anywhere near New York or the Pentagon or Pennsylvania, but my heart went out to everyone who was suffering. The images of loved ones searching for the missing should haunt us forever. That evening my son went to a candlelight vigil on the beach his friends had organized. This was our generation’s day that will live in infamy. We must never forget.