My dad was supposed to be on American Airlines Flight 11 on September 11th, 2001.

We had gotten back at exactly 11pm the night before from Los Angeles. I knew it was exactly 11pm because my eyes fluttered before slowly opening and then darting to look at the clock on the dashboard of my dads silver Volkswagen Passat. The garage door opened in front of us and my skin stuck to the black leather seat as I slowly pulled myself away from one of my last innocent moments. My mom had just completed her first triathlon. Dad was going to the airport in the morning to attend a conference. A coworker went in place of him for the last few days so he could watch mom cross the finish line. His coworker was flying back that day and dad was getting on a plane to finish the rest of the conference. Like most families, we had a routine for the mornings. Mom would come into my room to wake me up, I would throw the pillow over my head to block out the lights she flicked on. “Don’t make me come in here again.” She would say. I would roll out of bed, my comforter following me to the door before falling off my shoulders. I would go into the bathroom to wash my face and put toothpaste on my toothbrush. Then I would walk down the long hallway to my parent’s bedroom where they had a velvet fainting couch that rested at the edge of their bed. My parents would be getting ready for the day and I would brush my teeth and my body would sink into the purple couch while watching Knight Rider. (Yes — I know that’s a weird show for a little girl to watch but it was the only thing on that early in the morning) Mom would come over and sit behind me and brush my hair. Most days she would comb my fine jet black hair back and put it into a high ponytail. We had different hair textures. Hers was short, thick and curly. Mine was long, fine and straight. Sometimes she would tie my ponytail too tight and I would get headaches. But I never said anything. That morning, I woke up and went about our routine. When I reached my parent’s room, dad was taking things out of his suitcase but mom was ironing his “nice” shirts. His ties hanging on a hanger next to the TV. I felt a nervous energy circulating the room. So instead of sinking into that purple couch, I sat on the edge with my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. <a href="https://medium.com/@livingbreely/my-dad-was-supposed-to-be-on-american-airlines-flight-11-on-september-11th-2001-b9b0adf3596b">Read More</a>