I was still in bed, straddling that hazy line between sleep and consciousness, when my roommate burst in the door. "We're under attack," he blurted out, throwing his backpack onto the couch.
He was a theater major and a pretty dramatic person, so I wasn't quite sure what he meant. But by the time I'd climbed down from my loft, he'd turned on the TV.
The rest of the day was a blur. I know that I didn't go to my classes and instead went to Mass. I, like most everyone else, probably stayed in front of the television.
Hard to believe that was five years ago.
I've tried not to dwell on it since, but this past weekend I stumbled across the A&E movie Flight 93, and the memories surged back, at moments as fresh as that Tuesday. I was reminded of those who died without any warning. And in the case of the passengers of United 93, the ones who knew death was imminent and attempted to lessen evil's impact.
And for some reason, I thought of the Communion of Saints.
Pray for those who died five years ago. Pray for those heroes who kept their hijacked airliner from destroying the Capitol or the White House and killing even more innocent people. May they join all the saints in the light of heaven. And may their families feel His sweet kiss of peace.
