I watched the early footage of cops and firefighters running toward the smoke, falling debris and carnage while thousands of citizens ran away from it. I was reminded yet again of this peculiar breed of men and women who feel the urge - no, the irresistibly compelling need - to run toward danger.
I wanted my hands on the concrete and torn steel. My heart screamed to be there, to stop the bleeding, to offer aid, to dig out survivors and to fight something. Especially the last. Why couldn't I have been on one of the planes to help? You and I would have met our eyes across the aisle and known we were going to act.
This is a lousy spectator sport and I'm not happy sitting on the sidelines. And neither are tens of thousands of other Americans. We're with you.
Those officers, and others, ran in and put their lives on the edge of the knife - and the cut went the wrong way. Now, more than ever, we need to find our gutpile and not lose it for the long haul ahead, so that those heroes did not die needlessly.
On Monday of that fateful week, many Americans were complaining about their differences, their inability to get along. Yet, on Tuesday, we suddenly became one. The fall of those two towers acted like the hammers in a forge, melding us together in that cataclysmic heat. The bodies of our fallen, mixed with the steel and concrete, served to create a mortar that has built our "terrible resolve" into an unstoppable force. And that force is aimed in one direction now.