10 years

10 years ago today, I was sitting in Mr. Richard's math class, in 8th grade. I watched on a small television on a roll-around cart, as the plane crashed into the second tower. There were terrified people waving and jumping from windows. Thick smoke and dust and flames. I saw the building collapse. I heard the frightened voices of the reporters and the passersby. Firefighters. People running. People crying. People angry. Other planes? Rumors. Terrorists. Bin Laden. More smoke. Pentagon. Camp David. Pittsburg. Oh my God. Oh my God. The second collapse. War. Screaming.

I saw worried expressions on my teachers faces.
The news was on everywhere.
I didn't really understand what was going on.

I had no idea that my future husband--then someone else's husband and 12 days fresh into active duty--was sitting in the chow hall, eating grits at Fort Campbell, watching the same news. He was on the ground in Afghanistan two months later.
I don't think he understood, either.

For the first time in 10 years, I'm watching with sore eyes, the memorials, the news, documentaries from that day. Knowing more, maybe still not understanding, but understanding more.