Prior to September 2001, the farthest north I'd ever been was Virginia. I'd never had much of an interest in going to states any farther north than that, choosing to stay where I was comfortable and among "my people."

But earlier in the year, a friend and I decided to make the trek to the Big Apple for a soap opera convention that was being held there. Though we were excited to meet some of our favorite stars, we were more excited to get the bonding time to spend with each other and other fellow "soapies" fans.

She'd been to New York City before; I hadn't.  So it was a pretty big culture shock for me right from the start, but mostly in a good way.

We had a blast taking in the sights and sounds, and hanging out with friends. I also learned that New Yorkers were, in general, pretty cool people. Not that I'd ever thought anything negative of them before, but everything I saw about them from books, magazines, videos, etc. made me think we wouldn't have much in common. But we did.

And the food was excellent. One stop we made early on was at a place called Roxy Delicatessen. I'm a cheesecake connoisseur of sorts, and they had the absolute best I'd ever tasted. I thought to myself at the time that if I had been driving back to North Carolina instead of flying, some of that cheesecake would be coming home with me.

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September 11 was the day we were supposed to fly out on late-afternoon flights (my friend lives in Florida).  We checked out of our hotel, which was two blocks from Times Square, but they were kind enough to let us leave our luggage there until it was time for us to travel to the airport.

The original plan was to meet a friend who lived in NYC for breakfast, but due to a change in his schedule, we changed it to lunch.  So we ended up doing some light sightseeing that morning. We went to a few places, including Rockefeller Center, where this picture was taken sometime between 8:30 a.m. and 8:45 a.m.

Because we had enjoyed our first visit there so much, we walked back to Roxy for breakfast. On our way, we saw one of those electronic news tickers on the side of a building talking about how there had been an incident involving a plane and the World Trade Center. I thought to myself that when we got to Roxy and got settled, maybe there would be a TV there so that we could find out what happened. 

Though the early report was concerning, in my mind I figured it was probably a tragic accident. I don't recall seeing any TVs in Roxy, but about half an hour after we got there, some man walked in and yelled, "They got the Pentagon!" Most of the people who were eating looked at him like he was crazy, and then got right back to eating and conversing with each other. Apparently, random people walking in and blurting out what at the time seemed like a strange thing was fairly common in NYC.

Meanwhile, I had gotten a beep on my Nokia phone indicating a voicemail had been left. I was having trouble trying to connect to it, so a few minutes later, after we finished breakfast, we walked out the door and were hit with the sounds of several fire trucks passing by. In my mind, I prayed for their safety, but I remarked to my friend that there was nowhere in the city you could go where it wasn't loud.

I checked my phone connection while standing on the sidewalk, and still couldn't get through to that voicemail. I was agitated over the inconvenience, thinking it might be the friend we were supposed to meet for lunch. So, as a last resort, we walked to the Marriott Hotel and went up to what I think was the sixth floor, where you could eat, shop, and use the pay phones. The plan had been to call my voicemail from the pay phone, so I could retrieve the message.

But everyone else was using the pay phones, and there were people waiting behind them to use them, too. It was very odd, considering pretty much everyone had cell phones at that point.

Outside of what we'd seen on that news ticker, that was my first real indication that something was off. I stood at a nearby table while my friend stepped away to try to find out what was going on.

When she returned, she told me I might want to sit down. Moments later, she told me, "We're under attack."

She informed me that planes had hit both World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon. It was around 10 a.m.  We didn't know it yet, but the South Tower had just fallen. And Flight 93 was getting ready to crash in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

We both sat there looking at each other, trying to process everything. All I could think about was two things: how our original breakfast plans would have had us not far from the World Trade Center. What if our plans hadn't changed? What would have happened to us?

The second thing I thought about was that I needed to get in one of the pay phone lines and call my mom.  I knew in that moment that it was probably her who had left that voicemail, wondering if we were okay.

It was. I was so relieved to hear the sound of her voice once I was able to call her, as was she to know we were both okay. She told me that a TV had been turned on in her office, and they were watching to see what was going on. We prayed on the phone together, and then hung up.

My friend sort of took the reins at that point for most of the duration. We immediately went back to the hotel we'd been staying at, and fortunately, they had a room available that we could stay in, so we took our luggage back upstairs, turned on the TV, and were horrified at the images and videos we were seeing. It was unfiltered for the most part, and some of it included people jumping from the WTC.

Eventually, we were able to connect with our friend, who we were going to have lunch with, and he assured us that he was okay and wanted to make sure we were, too.  But the rest of our time spent in NYC was spent trying to process what had happened and determine whether we wanted to wait for air traffic to resume or drive out.

We ended up driving out in the early morning hours that Friday after the attacks. But that day, that week, has never left me, and when the anniversary rolls around, I feel survivor's guilt, something I didn't know was even a thing until after 9/11, a day that almost saw my friend and me near what would eventually become "Ground Zero," plans that got changed probably a half an hour before the first plane hit.

As long as God grants me memory, I will never forget what happened, and I will always say prayers for the families of those who lost their loved ones and who have to relive the pain every day of their lives.  May the memory of those who perished that day in the attacks be a blessing.