11 September 2018

Today is always a hard day for me. Like most native New York Tristate residents, I will never forget where I was on 11 September 2001. I was just a kid sitting in homeroom when our Greenwich, CT school was evacuated. My mom picked me up and we went home. We lived on the water, and we could see the smoke rising from the towers. Scrambled fighter jets flew over our house. Us kids, home from school and confused, were in the driveway when that happened… we screamed and ran for cover, thinking it was happening again. My dad was supposed to be on the 100th floor of the left tower. He decided not to go to that meeting; all of his colleagues who did go, died.

As a mother, these tragedies now carry special weight. I can hardly imagine the grief and pain of the parents of the people aboard those planes or in the towers. It is horrible, and there is no masking the agony. 17 years later, an adult, I still feel acute pain on this day.

This post is short because I don’t have it in me to explicate about the depth of pain and tragedy. All I can say is that we, as a resilient set of people, have managed to band together and keep walking into the future. We remember the heroes who risked and sometimes gave everything. We remember the victims, and we remember their families.Β We hug our children and parents and friends tighter on this day.

Stay safe, my dear readers, and never forget this day.

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