Eight years ago this morning, I finished feeding my son his baby-food breakfast while watching the small black and white tv on the kitchen counter over his shoulder. It was a peaceful, bright September morning. He finished, I washed him up, and lifted him out of his highchair. On my way out of the kitchen, I switched off the tv. I walked into the living room, switched on that tv, and found that life had changed forever.
I left the kitchen a calm, happy new mother. I walked into the living room a cornered, fiercely protective mother and a fearful, defensive, sad, and angry American.
But I am lucky. My life, however changed, went on from that day.
So many did not.
I remember, today and always.
The Iron Fist of Twitter
14 hours ago