And a very sad day.

I've been trying to avoid all the news and whatnot surrounding the anniversary today marks, but it's almost impossible to.

The morning of September 11, 2001, was bright and sunny where I was. I didn't have anything I could get done at work until the labs were empty (in the afternoon), so I took the morning off to work on one of by novels. I woke up well before my alarm, and there was lots of hot coffee waiting, courtesy of LullaBelle, who gets up and gone before me almost every day. The fact that I was up so early and already working was an oddity in itself; I almost always write late at night.

The sun was streaming in the windows of the back room, which is actually on the front of the house. It was a very quiet morning, perfect for writing. I put on some music, sipped coffee, and got about an hour of work in.

The phone rang, and my mother in law said something about wanting to know how we were. She sounded very odd, and I thought she was doing some sort of drama-queen thing. "I'm fine," I said, "how are you?"

"Well how the fuck do you think I am?" she asked, as if it was the stupidest question ever asked.

"Is something wrong?"

There was a long silence. "Isn't your tv on?" she asked. I said no. "Turn the tv on," she said, quietly.

"What station?"

"Any station."

When I turned it on, one tower was in flames, and in minutes, I watched as a plane hit the second tower.

Anyone reading this knows the rest. You will have lived it, watched it, grown up with it, or maybe even have read it in your history books.

I felt then, and still sometimes now, like I was suddenly pulled from my planet and dropped on to some alien world. The most persistent thought that I had, and still have, is, Did that just happen? I don't have a point of reference to view terrorism, or even just random violence, from. I don't understand hating people I don't know. Even growing up in Reagan's America, I never hated the Soviets, and I was never convinced they hated me either. I don't really hate the Iranians, Palestinians, Afghans, or North Koreans (though their leaders do make me a little nervous). I'm not really convinced that most of them hate me either.

I don't get it, and I guess in a way, I'm glad. In my world, you might hate people that wrong you, but usually, you reconcile, or you find a way to not have to deal with each other. People in my world don't randomly kill each other in the hope that those murders will "send a message."

Except, now people in my world do.

I don't know what message I'm supposed to get. You went to great lengths to intentionally do something cruel, inhuman and stupid to a lot of people you don't know. That just doesn't make any fucking sense to me.

One response did make sense to me. My hockey league didn't cancel our game on September 11, 2001. When I showed up to play for the team I was managing, I asked my friend who was the captain, should we really be playing hockey that night?

Fuck yes! he said. We have to show them that, whatever they think they might gain, they aren't scaring us into changing our lives. We're going to continue on, just like we always have.

Tonight starts a new season of hockey for my new team. We're continuing on, just like we always will.