If someone sends me that "God Bless America" email one more time, I am going to scream.

We're wearing some red white and blue to the office today; there's another email going around asking folks to do that. So I am. But that other email is starting to work my nerves.

Yesterday we had a conference call with our New York employees. They were all calling in from their homes, the alternate offices they made it to in New Jersey, and in the case of our division president, from a hotel near Princeton to which he and his wife fled when the buildings collapsed and filled their apartment with debris.

We kept our phone on mute for a while, those of us in Seattle, listening to the others. "Oh, my god! You're okay!" "Did you ever get that bus?" "How's your wife doing?" "Has anyone seen so and so? I haven't seen him!" "I was covered in stuff from head to toe...I had to throw those clothes out they were destroyed."

They needed that connection. Most of them had run off without taking anything with them that held home phone numbers of their coworkers. Some of the VP's had their laptop computers, but those who did not had no access to their email, their contacts.

There was some humor. When Liz did a role call, one of the senior vice presidents wasn't on and someone commented that he was probably still working hard at the office and the others burst into laughter. He's a known work-a-holic. Someone's bird started chatting during the call, and in response across town, someone else's dog chimed in.

Mark, our president, sounded slightly disoriented. He's the only one in a hotel. He rushed out of the office the moment the second plane hit to get his wife, his childhood sweetheart, out of their apartment in Battery Park. She was in the shower and didn't realize they were in danger as she'd slept in that morning. Minutes after he hauled her out of the shower to get her to throw on some clothes, Tower 2 collapsed and their room filled with ash and smoke. They grabbed their toothbrushes (which Liz later teased him lightly about; he needed a chuckle) and caught one of the many tugboats that were ferrying people across the river.

We compiled a list of people's telephone numbers, home phones, cell phones, home email addresses. It's surprising that no one had this information already. Even Liz as surprised she didn't have everyone in Seattle's number; fortunately, I had the ones she didn't, but still. We've asked all our regions to make sure they know how to reach all their employees, and asked them to provide that data to us as well.

Later I spoke with two of the women from the NY office. They told me their stories, where they were and what they were doing. "I'm sorry to be blabbing about this," one said. "Don't be!" I replied, "You need to tell someone and I don't mind listening."

And I don't. Only it makes my heart ache to hear it, firsthand, some of the things they've seen and had to do to get home. Then I think of all those who aren't going home and it chills me further.

The Discovery channel had a lovely show on last night about beavers building dams, followed by something about microscopic life. I watched them, feeling guilty whenever I flipped through the channels and paused to see anything more on the people trying to clear through the rubble. I know this is hard for everyone. I want to take a moment to clear my own thoughts.

Then I open my email and see fifteen copies of "God Bless America" and I can't forget for even a minute.