I just finished my last week of school ever. EVA. FOREVERRRRR. I am still reeling from the reality of it all. I am sure I will do a little post-a-loo (<-- ew) all about my feels in the near future.

Until then, here is this week's portrait.

This morning I woke up to the sounds of morning birds, the rhythm of passing cars, and the brush of the morning breeze on my cheek. I didn't have to wake up at a specific time or gulp down my coffee before heading out the door. Emma and I kissed Paul goodbye and we leisurely ate some pancakes. I actually enjoyed my coffee and drank every last sip.

I did some morning stretches (thanks PBS) and Emma flitted in and around my legs. This.

Mornings like this make the world go 'round. What a pleasant feeling it is to wake up surrounded by feelings of love and contentment.

But on this morning, 14 years ago, I was 12 years old and walking downstairs before my school day. My mother stopped me halfway down the steps - something tragic has happened - she whispered through choking despair. I will never forget that day. I will never forget the looks on my teachers' faces as the reality of terror permeated our halls. Lessons were forgotten. Radios were turned on their maximum volumes. We listened. We absorbed. We prayed.

A tiny piece of my childhood was chipped away that day and the reality of the horrors of human capability became apparent that day. My heart continually weeps for the immense loss felt by countless families for their loved ones.

,Hope prevails as men and woman came together. We did not break that day - we emerged from the rubble united.