On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was saying goodbye to my mother who was in the later stages of Alzheimers in a nursing home in Jonesboro Arkansas. My husband and I were girding for the long ride back to Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario where my 17 year old son was waiting at home for us. Then the planes hit the towers. Before I'd had time to recognize the enormity of what had just happened Harold said he had to step out. He returned a few moments later with gas and as much money as the bank machines would give him. We drove across the US in silence listening to NPR all the way.
We heard that the Buffalo- Fort Erie border crossing was closed and that there was a 6 hour wait to cross at Niagara Falls. As we were driving through Buffalo we heard an announcement that the Peace Bridge had reopened. We drove through without a lineup. The relief I felt to be back in Canada was overwhelming.
Every part of that journey is branded on my memory.
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