On Sept. 11, 2001, I was in San Jose, Calif., where I lived at the time, taking my daily walk in the neighborhood. It was about 6:45 a.m. when I put the earpiece of my Walkman in and started on my round. Instead of the talk-show program I was accustomed to hearing at that time, I heard the excited voice of a newscaster describing the tragedy of an airliner striking one of the Twin Towers in Manhattan, N.Y. My first reaction was that this was an ad for another Tom Clancy suspense novel, but the more I listened, the more it sounded like the real thing. Then minutes later, the newscaster talked in machine-gun rapid fire about a second explosion resulting in the other tower as another jetliner struck it.

I quickly returned home, my heart throbbing, as I asked Virginia, my wife, to put on the TV. In disbelief, I saw the surreal image of two skyscrapers on fire, smoke billowing in ugly black clouds of death and destruction. In stunned silence, Virginia and I continued watching as pictures flooded the screen concerning a third explosion at the Pentagon, then later, the crash of a San Francisco-bound jet in a Pennsylvania field. Was this the end of our country?

Days later, as I checked out my groceries at my neighborhood Safeway, the normally jovial clerk, always ready with a joke for me, was solemn. When I asked what he thought of the 9-11 incident, he turned to me and said that his cousin was the pilot of Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania.

How close to home, I thought! I could have been on that plane or in one of those buildings, not knowing that death was minutes away. I guess the way 9-11 changed me was in realizing how precious is each moment of life that we have. Now when Virginia and I leave, even for a small trip, we kiss and depart with the word “love” on our lips as if it would be our last encounter. For many on 9-11, it was indeed their last encounter.

Tom Mach, Lawrence