This was not what I expected as I watched students march up the steps of the Utah Capitol at Saturday’s March for Our Lives rally.

I expected to be inspired, to be moved, to be re-energized. That did happen. What I was not prepared for was to have my breath catch in my throat as the wave of young people — the future of America — proceeded past me to take their place facing me on the steps and the surrounding plaza. It felt as if they were individually and collectively my own children.

I was acutely aware of their pain, their fear, their desire to be protected by the adults surrounding them on the plaza even though they were nearing adulthood themselves. They spoke powerfully on the pain and fear resulting from school shootings and the now-urgent need for new legislation.

They spoke truth through their tears, anger and pleadings. They emboldened the crowd before them not only to take action, but to follow their lead in voice and vote and lifestyle choices. And they transformed themselves from students to master teachers before our very eyes. Each person standing in that hollow of humanity was encircled by an other-worldly energy, united beyond individual differences into a searing, beautiful whole.

Thinking back on that moment, it seemed familiar, and I realized I had “run that gamut of emotion” before, nearly two decades earlier.

It was three weeks after the 9/11 attacks. It was almost midnight as I stood at Ground Zero with fashion designers from the Javits Center trade show. Smoke and darkness softened the scene of destruction. Barricades barred us from intruding on that most sacred of burial grounds, hallowed by millions of prayers offered before-during-after the devastation. Feelings of overwhelming loss, unbelievable annihilation, anger, even rape clawed at our chests.

No one spoke. There were no words, and if there could have been they would not be able to make their way past the obstructions in our throats. Silent tears, then confusion at how to move forward not just in life, but to physically move from the horror anchoring us to this spot. In front of us and to the side stood a small cluster of people, perhaps a family, quietly chanting what sounded like the Jewish Kaddish, its soft rhythm slightly escalating and carrying those within earshot to a place of comfort.

Then all was quiet and a sweet blush of hope washed over us, a realization that each small cluster of people scattered across the barriers under this late evening sky was working to interpret the scene before them, to mourn deeply and then to find a single thread of belief in something good — something bigger than the destruction before them — to hold onto.

I was reminded today of that gut-wrenching sorrow, then the calm and finally the peace I gained from that singular experience. Whether the terrorism is international or domestic, the shattering of souls is the same and we must find a way through and away from it. Our marching youth brought that forward to my conscious. I thank them and I am with them; all-in for the fight going forward.