The cornerstone of Notre Dame was laid in 1163 with Pope Alexander watching. It took almost a 100 years to build.
Over the years, it served as the place where hundreds and thousands of people were baptized, prayed, married and were buried.
In recent times some 13 million people walk down the aisles each year, looking at the statues, the stained glass windows, the soaring buttresses.
There were times of damage by the Huguenots, the French Revolution and WWII.
Over the centuries, there have been major repairs and cleanings the latest completed in 2000.
Today, 15 April, at 18:50 the history has gone up in flames.
I think of all the times, I've been there.
With two friends from Boston, we heard a woman with a Texas woman at one of the souvenir stands almost screaming at the vendor as she held up a metal model, "Is this the real McCoy," causing us to shrivel in shame at the crudeness of a fellow American.
Sitting inside and watching tourist groups: a Japanese group followed a woman who held up a fan. A British group followed a man holding up an umbrella.
At another visit sitting inside, soaking up the atmosphere, and the choir began practicing.
One warm afternoon I was with two Syrian friends eating egg salad sandwiches outside.
On each trip to Paris, I might walk by it, I might go in. There were times, I spent a long time examining some part of the church.
I thought it would always be there.
I was wrong.
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