This is what I wrote to a much younger friend this morning:

Though it may sound awful, I am glad that it is raining. On 9/11/01 the sun was shining, it was a beautiful late summer morning, truly. I am very aware of the position of the sun and stars (when younger I was an avid stargazer) and even yesterday was hard as the sun slanted down.

A lot of remembrance is going on: my usual talk radio station is not coming in this morning so I've been listening to other programs. I have reached one conclusion: I have no patience for conspiracy theories.

On 9/11/01, I was at home, making a phone call when my daughter called me on my cell phone to tell me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I turned on the television to see tape of the second plane hitting, or maybe it was the actual event--it hardly matters. We finished the conversation as if everything were normal, even though we both knew it was not. We stole five minutes away from the grief that was coming.

Maria called me the day before yesterday, remembering that this was why Thomas had signed up for the Army as soon as he could. She's angry at the world--I suggested target practice. How many 19 year old girls do you know who can clean and shoot an M16?

On the whole, this day was harder than I thought it would be. It has been 22 months since Thomas died.