I've had this knot in my stomach that just won't go away since Tuesday morning. I just can't help feeling that September 11 will be one of those singular moments when we lose what's left of our innocence. I know I'll never walk on a plane again in a casual manner and I'll never feel completely safe in a crowd ever again. I find it so hard to fathom that there could be so much hate in someone to be able to do the things that were done in those tragic events.

The only solace I'm finding now are the stories of heroism that are coming out. Accounts of people helping others, like the man in the World Trade Center who went back to help someone out and miraculously made it out to find his coworkers didn't. And Meredith, who was a childhood friend of my good friend Kathleen, and who was last seen rounding up people from other floors and urging them out. Then there was the group of passengers on the plane that crashed outside of Pittsburgh, courageous, quick-thinking people who made up their minds to fight the highjackers for control of the plane. These are the stories that I try to remember when I'm overcome with the senseless horror of Tuesday's events.