Matt and I had been married exactly one month six years ago today. Generally we got up and turned on the news and got ready for classes at Virginia Theological Seminary, where we were both studying (about 5 minutes from our townhouse in Alexandria). I remember looking in the mirror, one month after fitting into my gorgeous and tiny wedding dress, and thinking 'wow, I'm really thin, this is really great' or something like that, and shoving myself into a pair of tiny trousers and a periwinkle colored blouse and feeling fabulous. Anyway, we didn't turn on the news. We just got ready to go and got in the car and started driving in towards DC to the Dominican House where we had a class that morning. We'd been in the car maybe 55 seconds when I turned on the news and we heard the live reporting from NYC. Two or three minutes later, once we were actually on 395, we heard the Pentagon get hit and then all the aftershocks (thought the whole city was being bombed) and were immediately routed off onto Quaker Lane. We wended our way back to the seminary and watched TV for the rest of the day. Late afternoon there was a service in the chapel, at which the dean and some student only wore black cassocks. Weeks after there was arguing over whether or not they should have worn white surpluses over the cassocks. Wanted to scream every time I heard this discussion going on.
I think a lot changed immediately. The seminary, already divided politically and theologically became polarized. Matt and I spent more and more time together in our apartment studying. And we decided to have a baby right away, which was a shock and horror to the seminary community as well. And since that morning I try always to listen to or read the news before leaving the house. One never knows.