I was living on an East Coast base playing outside with our son, who was just a toddler when my husband pulled into the driveway. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. He told me there had been an attack and to turn on the TV. He sat with me for only moments while I watched the second plane hit. I held my stomach, pregnant with our daughter. I knew he came home for a reason. . . He then told me he was taking us home to St. Louis, where I would be safe and then he would return to base. . .He could not tell me what would happen next. I will never forget the feeling. My heart and prayers go to all those lost, their families, friends and those who served us all that day and whom continue to serve. You have my heart and my gratitude. Events live on through our stories. If we stop telling them, our generation will fade and so will the memory.