I ask for your patience. By Jim Warda I remember this feeling. In the weeks after my father died, I struggled for words, not knowing how to go on when I'd lost so much. This time reminds me of that time. Except this time is different, because all of us have lost something. And, already, I know there will be some who want me to stop writing about it, to move on. And, my only answer is that I'm trying. I just haven't figured out quite how yet. So, I beg your patience. Because I can't yet write about anything else but September Eleventh and how hard those planes hit. Like today, when what I most want to share with you is the moment over the weekend when I took my four-year-old son to his dance class. As he and a girl in his class learned new steps together, the girl's mother and I talked about how great they were doing. Then, as has so often happened lately, we started talking about the terrorist attacks. We talked about the horror of that day, then turned quiet again to watch our children dance, because sometimes there are no words. As we watched, though, a woman who had been sitting near us spoke. In a broken voice, she said that her cousin and his wife were in the World Trade Center that day. That both of them had died when the first plane hit. I watched Matthew dance some more, wondering when we'll wake up to realize that it was all just a bad dream. Again, I ask for your patience. This will probably take awhile. «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«