Not too long ago, I was listening to a radio station on the Internet and heard this song. I decided to write down where I was, and how 9/11 affected me. This is a true story, no names have been changed, as there is no one to protect.

Where were you when the world stopped turnin'
that September day?
Out in the yard with your wife and children;
Or working on some stage in LA.?

I was in Brasil, on a combined vacation / business trip. I was waiting to see a friend of mine, Ed, in the reception area of his office. The telephone rang, and was passed to me.

It was Nadia, speaking so fast I could barely make out what she was saying, Portuguese is not my first language and my skills were quite rudimentary at the time. I made out Uriel (her boyfriend in the States) and airplane and crash. Had Uriel been in a plane crash? What was going on? I passed the handset to Cintia, my interpreter, and asked her to talk to Nadia.

Cintia spoke with her for a few moments, and hung up the telephone. Then she said a few words to the receptionist, who in turn spoke with someone on the telephone. Quite confused at this point, I turned to Cintia and asked what was going on. Cintia's face was pale, and was visibly upset ìTheres' something happening in the United States, you need to seeî was all she would tell me.

The door to the inner offices opened jut then, and Ed appeared, gesturing for us to follow him. Down a short corridor, turn left and a few steps more we came to Ed's office. He ushered us into a conference room attached to his office. There was a 13' color TV mounted on the wall, and he told me to have a seat while he turned on the television.

Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Rising against that blue sky?
Did you shout out in anger in fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry?

The television came on and I saw it. Smoke and flames pouring out of one of the towers. My God! What happened? The commentary was in Portuguese. I could barely understand it. The camera changed to another view, and I saw the second plane hitting the second tower. What the hell is going on??? They kept showing it over and over and over. I saw what looked like people falling/jumping, I couldn't tell. It was hard to breathe. Then the first tower crumbled. Images of people running. The second tower fell. More people fleeing. A cloud of dust chasing them

I am in shock.

I cannot move.

Did you weep for the children
that lost their dear loved ones?
Did you pray for the ones who don't know?
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
and sob for the ones left below?

They kept playing the footage of the second plane crashing into the tower. They kept showing images of people leaping to their deaths. They kept showing the terror stricken faces of the survivors. ENOUGH! I turned the television off.

Did you burst out in pride for the red white and blue
And the heroes who died just doin' what they do?
Did you look up to heaven for some kind of answer?
And look at yourself for what really matters?

I left Ed's office a short time later, and spent the afternoon at his mothers home, a very beautiful home nestled in the hills. I met new people, one man showed me furniture he makes from scrap pieces of granite and marble. I took some pictures of the tables he had made, but couldn't really appreciate the beauty. My heart was like a stone.

There were children in her home, grandchildren of hers, and I managed to keep up my friendly facade while around them. I played with the children, allowing them to lead me off into one of the fields to pick berries from one of the many fruit trees surrounding the house. The children showed me how to pop the black fruit into my mouth, suck out the juice and spit out the bitter skin and seed. Seeing the innocence in their faces, I silently prayed they would never endure the horror I had witnessed.

Later I went to an even more remote location, to see a house made completely from stone. Nestled in a small valley at the end of a small lake and surrounded by banana palms and coffee bushes sits this wonderful little house. It's a two bedroom house and obviously hand made. The walls were all made from rocks fitted together with cement to bind them together. There was no ceiling, only the roof; high and seeming to be suspended above the house itself. It was supported by massive rafters that appeared to be hewed from single trees and formed into the frame supporting the roof.

Cintia and Estevan left me alone for a short time, and allowed me some time to reflect on what I had witnessed earlier on the television. I have friends who live and work in Manhattan. One of them works in one of the towers. I don't know which one. Does it matter? He's probably dead.

How many of my friends and loved ones had I lost over the years? Too many. I thought back to the past, this one shot in St. Croix; that one in a hit and run accident; the seven that went died when their fishing boat capsized; the one I had seen shot in a drive by shooting in Washington, DC; my father dying in my arms even as I gave him CPR; Wendy's seizure and death that remained unexplained; the four in Alaska Air Flight 261. There were more, but I couldn't bear to think of them as well. There was a bench made from a boulder that had been shaped and smoothed sitting at the edge of the lake. I found my self sitting on that bench, weeping uncontrollably. Why? God tell me why!

Where were you when the world stopped turning
That September day?
Teaching a class full of innocent children;
Driving down some cold interstate?
Did you feel guilty 'cause you're a survivor
in a crowded room did you feel alone?
Did you call up your mother and tell her you love her?
Did you dust off that bible at home?