I woke up that morning and cuddled and nursed the baby. In between things, Russell hollered,"Happy Birthday!" from his room and I smiled and said thanks, feeling rather pleased.

Russell and I got dressed and ready as we do each morning and then we got in the car, I put on the radio, and drove him to school. After I dropped him off and was turning around in the parking lot, the radio station said something about the world trade center being reduced to rubble and I honestly thought it was a hoax because afterall, it was Mike's big hair rock station.

I switched to an AM station and to my horror heard that it was not a hoax. Then I heard a break-in that the Pentagon had been hit. As I sobbed, I heard that American Airlines flights were involved and my heart lurched as it has since childhood whenever I've heard that there's been a plane crash, and quickly remembered,"Dad is retired, now."

I got home, weeping and called my parents, but no one was home. I called again in half an hour and talked to my dad. I asked,"Have you heard?"

My dad is a recently retired captain for American Airlines based out of Boston; he knew and had worked with the entire flight crew on the American Airlines plane that hit the WTC. The captain of the flight had been his co-pilot often. That's the first time I've heard my dad cry.

My dad and I spoke quietly throughout the call about how sad we both felt and my dad told me with tears in his voice,"Just know that we love you, Mike, Russell and the baby. Please tell them for me."

I choked up and sputtered,"I will, Dad. We love you, too."

I watched the TV and felt sucked into an abyss of grief, much like the big San Francisco earthquake. Thinking I could escape, I called up my neighbor's daughter and asked if she wanted to go to Wal-mart to get away from the TV. To our dismay, they had coverage on the loudspeaker. I wept through Wal-mart.

I told Mike over lunch, that I did not want to celebrate my birthday and that everyone was strictly forbidden from wishing me a happy birthday. I knew I'd burst into tears if I heard "Happy Birthday." Mike squeezed my hand and said softly, "Crappy Birthday, baby." I smiled with tears streaming down my face. We're celebrating on Saturday instead.

I have been glued to the TV and radio ever since just like everyone else. Because I have some really bizarre allergies, I can't donate blood. Feeling a little helpless, I went to Wells Fargo Bank yesterday and made a donation to the Red Cross. The bank teller woman was apologetic that they couldn't give me a flag for my donation. I told her,"I donated for the people, not for the flag, but thanks." Hopefully, she said,"We'll have more flags tomorrow, if you come back." I smiled and said, "No, it's okay. I don't want a flag. I just want to help."

Last night, I finally was able to change the channel.