I had a PALS class that morning.
The receptionist at the consortium could not reach her brother. In New York.
We were there, but we weren’t present.
By 1100, they ended the class. It could not be business as usual.
I never left the television.
Over and over, the images.
The horrific sanitized-for-our-protection American versions; the unimaginable reality of the European versions.
Shock. Disbelief. Anger.
Oh God, the anger.
But never acceptance.
Not then. Not now. Not ever.