It took less than two hours.

I was getting ready for work when my mother called.

"Are you watching the news?" she asked.  I said I wasn't, as I was about to leave for work.

"Turn on the television," she ordered.  I asked which channel.

"Any of them," she said.  "It doesn't matter."

That's when I knew it had to be something bad.

________________________________________________________

I've been reading all day, not just the expected news reporting (intermingled with reports of the transition of power in England, and the Commonwealth, and the movement of Her Majesty's coffin) but also stories from friends, many of whom were in New York, or have family who were, and the people they lost.  Some of them just barely getting away.  Some who were away, finally getting home days later.

My younger niece was born four days later.  My elder honorary niece was born on this date, nineteen years ago.  A friend who barely made it out of the city gave birth two days later.  Others who were pregnant wondered about the world into which they were bringing their children.

Twenty-one years ago today.