I was at home in Greater Manchester.
I had just put my eight-month-old baby down for a nap, put the tv on and walked out of the living room to make lunch and a cup of tea.
When I came back I saw the WTC on fire.
At first, I think it was a movie. I walked back out of the room but came back and realized it was a news report.
I froze. My aunt worked at the WTC and I was desperately trying to remember which building she worked in. A minute later, the second plane hit the south tower and I was then having a massive freak out. I was trying to call my sister in the US but I couldn't get through and I just kept dialing every number of any relatives in the US but the lines were down.
I collected my other two children from school but I can't remember how I got there. It was an otherworldly experience because many of the school mum's hadn't heard or really understood what was happening. I was twitching and so desperate and no one could understand. My country was being attacked, my family member could be trapped or dead and I was so far away from home.
On the radio in the car, I heard about the Pentagon and the panic was really rising but I was trying very hard to keep my cool for my children. When we got home, I just sort of threw food and drink at them but then I saw the south tower fall. My then, nine-year-old, tells people that I fell to the floor sobbing. I apparently stayed like that after the second tower fell. I don't remember. I just know that I felt the bottom of my stomach fall and I felt faint.
It took me two or three days to learn that my aunt had survived. I met with her a few years ago and she only told me a very little bit of what she experienced on the day. I can completely understand why she hadn't returned to the site in 15 years, despite living in Manhattan. She carries a great trauma.
That day reminds me of feeling helpless, scared, and deeply sorrowful. A few days later, the guilt of feeling elated to learn the news from my aunt. Later, I had to feel the fear of my nephews going to war.