Not So Fond Memories

Six years ago today I was teaching. Six years ago today at 8:42 MST I called one of the dearest ladies in my life in New York and frantically inquired where her dear husband was. Had she heard from him? I cried uncontrollably with her. A wonderful man we affectionately refer to as "Papa" at our house, was somewhere in the city. And we didn't know where he was. A commodities trader, he had gone to work like everyone else that morning. She got off the phone, she had to leave all the lines open in case he called.

For four more hours I waited for "Gram" to call and tell that all was well. At 12:33, I heard a weary Papa's voice on the end of line. He was home. Unlike many of his friends and colleagues, he was home. He was going to rest. He had fled as the second plane flew over his head and he watched the impact. He was tired, he said. He wanted to sleep.

I'm glad you came home Papa. We love you!