I remember that day. I remember watching two planes crash into buildings. It seemed like some terribly Orson Welles joke that had gone catastrophically wrong. I remember thanking God the towers had not fallen immediately, as it gave the chance for many to escape. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when they did fall. The skies that I so love had suddenly become a holder of enemies. The dust, dirt, blood, tears, sweat, earth, plaster, debris, and fear that flooded the country flooded my home too. I sat on the couch in shock. I sat on the bed in shock. I wanted a hug from my mother; I wanted to hear my father’s voice. I remember the feeling of horror in knowing there were other flights, and we were waiting. Waiting for an attack, waiting for something. I remember the fear that spread of further attacks, military weapons, and biological weapons.
I remember the determination of everyday, ordinary people, making a stand where they were. I remember watching people run toward the sites where there were horrors to terrible to describe. I remember civilian hands becoming field medics for the minor needs. I remember seeing those who have walked in different office floors, ridden in elevators without talking; now holding each other up. I remember the compassion, the surge of pride in our fire fighters, paramedics, and police officers. I remember the vigils held, the candles lit, and the prayers prayed. I remember the silence of the sky as flights were grounded. Songs were sung, neighbors gathered, monuments were planned.
It has been nine years. It has been nine years and a few days since that day, that terrible infamous, tragic, and horrid day. It has been nine years and a few days since that inspiring, determined, angry day. Now, the discussion is more about this political venture, that conflict. I don’t want to get into politics on here, so I will skip that issue and say instead. I remember our unity in our hurt. Now, we must find our humanity in our healing.