It hit close to home...

Earlier tonight, I went outside to walk my dog Audrey, as I do every night. But tonight was different. Tonight, I saw lights shooting up into the sky from downtown Manhattan. Tonight, I was transported back...

September 11, 2001: It was just months after my dad died of ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease, and I was in one of my worst states of depression (the "D" word, I despise). Just days before, I had a severe panic attack, during which I ended up hurting my hand and having to spend two nights in the hospital.

Sept. 10th was my first night home from the hospital, and I was still doped up on pain meds, when my roomie Lauren ran in saying something about the city and an attack, and she ushered me out in front of our old barely working, black and white television. We had it rigged with tin-foil "bunny ears," so we could get exactly one channel, a fuzzy black and white version of Fox. Kneeling down, in a medicated daze, squinting to try and make out what I could on the screen...

That's when I saw it, sort of.

Faces and names of family and friends in downtown Manhattan flashed through my head, in what I can only call a clear blur. And to this day, that week is a clear blur in my memory. Unbelievable. Unimaginable. Unescapable.