I'll take this a step further in detail as best I can. I was not working at the time and would go to my Oma's once a week or so to help her out, make a little money. I had gotten there in the morning and she made me breakfast as usual. Probably eggs and corned beef hash with toast or something. I was sitting at her kitchen counter when she got a phone call from a German friend of hers telling her the World Trade Center had been hit by a plane and it was on the news. I immediately thought it was just some small twin-engine plane that some moron was flying. We were curious though so we went into her den, turned on the television, and watched as things unfolded. I can't remember tbh if we saw the second plane hit the second tower live or not, so many replays were shown and all. I think we did but I could be wrong. Over the next couple hours, we just sat there watching, not talking, and sat in disbelief as one tower came tumbling down and then the other. Maybe I said Jesus and she may have quietly muttered Oh my. I'm not sure exactly but that's the way it felt to my recollection. What I remember most though is not only the jaw-dropping feeling of disbelief and sadness but the bond that day with my grandmother. Oma had grown up in Eastern Germany during WWII, enduring many hardships. On the run, little to no food, some time in a concentration camp (her words, not mine), like that. And I couldn't help but think of her and all she had already seen in her life and what she must think of this and the world and what it's become. I couldn't help but like, for lack of a better word, that I was with her and only her as it unfolded, knowing she could grasp the horror of it all, far better than me and most everyone living. There was something poignant about experiencing it with her. Please don't take that as having enjoyed the moment. I didn't. It was the most awful thing I've ever seen. But I felt a better appreciation for the moment with her there than if I'd been with anyone else, if that makes sense.
