I remember the first time I saw the World Trade Center up close and personal. I stood on the sidewalk below, leaning back on my heels and craning my neck as far as it would go to get a glimpse of their full glory. And against a backdrop of winter blue sky, they were nothing short of glorious.

But that isn’t the image that comes first to mind when I think of those buildings today. No, the image that will no doubt forever be burned into my brain is that of those mighty twin towers crumbling, swallowed up by a massive plume of smoke and flame.

Eight years later, I still find it difficult to think about the nearly 3,000 who died and the more than 6,000 wounded that day between the attacks on the WTC and on the Pentagon. It’s just too horrific. And too unbelievable that something like this could happen, did happen, on American soil.

The thought of it leaves me as empty as the footprints of those great buildings, with a fierce tightening at the back of my throat and tears welling in my eyes.

It wasn’t just the physical damage that was wrought or even the many lives that were lost, that shook our country to the core. For when those towers fell, with them went the sense of security, the feeling of invincibility, we had as a nation.