It’s a blue sky day in Vermont. I’m in a reflective mood as I remember September 11th, 2001. Our daughter was little. Our careers were mid. Our sense of safety was intact.

My husband left for work at the nearby IBM plant early that morning. My daughter Aleksandra — a newly minted kindergartner at Williston’s Allen Brook School — exchanged “kissing hands” with me as I wished her a great day at school. We were less than two weeks into the school year. I was still adjusting to trusting “Nancy the bus driver” to safely transport my child to school. Aleksandra boarded the orange school bus wearing a colorful Howdy Wear jumper and black Mary Janes. The light blue backpack she’d chosen for school seemed enormous on her little back.

I left home at 8:45 a.m. for a 9:00 a.m. meeting at Chef’s Corner. I’d been encouraged to consider and was weighing a possible run for the Vermont Legislature. I met with a kind and gracious Williston Mom who was also considering a run.

“I just heard on public radio that a plane flew into the World Trade Center,” my tablemate said as I arrived at the cafe.

The vision in my head was that of a small Cessna-like plane and an errant, perhaps inexperienced, pilot. I felt a tinge of sadness before the thought slipped from my mind. I could not have imagined two Boeing 767s — American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175 — barreling into the World Trade Center’s North and South Towers at 8:46 a.m. and 9:03 a.m.

Conversation over coffee commenced. Ultimately, I chose not to run for the Legislature. Although it was flattering to be encouraged to run, the time simply didn’t feel right. I was shifting focus to re-ignite my career following a wonderfully creative and fun, five-year “parenting sabbatical.” I remain grateful to this day for the gift of TIME for arts, crafts, reading, cooking, library story times, playgroups and simply hanging out with my favorite little person. My fellow Williston Mom, an accomplished volunteer with a law degree, would run for the Legislature, win, and go on to serve our town with distinction.

I left the cafe and drove to a neighbor’s home to pick up some paperwork for a community project we worked on together. Steve answered the door and asked, “Have you heard what happened in New York?” The vision of a small Cessna flashed in my brain. “Come in.”

Steve’s living room television broadcast images from a seeming war zone — smoke, fire, debris, people covered in soot and emergency responders coordinating on the ground flashed before me. I was shocked. I was stunned. I immediately thought of those I loved.

I drove home, shaken. There was a message on the answering machine from my husband: “I’m not sure what’s going on. All I know is that I want to talk with you.” How steadying it was when I called his office and he picked up the phone.

All flights were grounded as airspace closed. Williston Schools sent our children home early with sealed envelopes offering thoughtful, age-appropriate guidance on how to talk with our children about what was happening. I remain grateful for the school’s care and expertise. Soon, I’d see the images, repeated over and over, of the planes’ deadly and destructive impact. I’d learn of the attack on the Pentagon and the plane downed by brave passengers in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I’d begin the nightly wakings as F-16s departed Vermont for weeks — or was it months — to patrol the skies over New York City. Each time I woke to the roar of the engines, I was reminded, “Oh, yes, this happened.”

Twenty-three years ago today, the unimaginable happened. I remain grateful to the helpers.

I invite you to follow my blog at https://presenttime.blog.