We know what happened twenty-five years ago. I then lived in Ann Arbor while Allison studied at the University of Michigan. Four memories of that living through that time as an alien on an American visa, time, not only the day but the weeks that followed it, stand out for me. I remember the Episcopal Church in Ann Arbor we attended, and the service on the Sunday that followed the Tuesday of 9/11. The pastor climbed into the pulpit and began his sermon with “Oh. My. God.” I remember calling my brother in Toronto to check in on him, and hearing from my sister in law that my brother was in New York. In fact, he had been at Bloomberg in midtown when the planes hit the towers, but that morning there had been a breakfast meeting on the topic of risk management in the insurance industry at Windows on the World at the top of the North Tower, and two of his colleagues had gone. One was late and survived; one was on time and didn’t.
