Like many others my age, this day is met with a mix of emotions. Gratitude, peace, fear, sadness. I’ve never tried to wrap up my feelings, I’ve never felt like I needed to. I was young when it happened, and I’m still not sure I have anything profound to say. And every time I sit down to think of something to say, I think of all the words said before — all of the people who have written profound, beautiful things in light of the tragedy.
Every year, I read this.
And I don’t have anything to add — nothing that could sum up the anger and resilience better than that or the thousands of other editorials. But my experience was my own, and I remember my mom and dad tucking me in the night of September 11, 2001. We had come back from a prayer gathering and I just laid in bed with wonder — too young to be fearful, but old enough to almost understand. I remember crying, asking my mom why God would let this happen.
I don’t remember her response, though I am sure it was beautiful. I do remember her telling me it was okay to cry — like a quote from To Kill A Mockingbird, she told me that it’s okay to cry in the face of injustice.
I remember all of the moments of silence, feeling disingenuous as we took pause, only to go on with the scheduled activities. I remember keeping a journal of all of the events, my thoughts, things we were learning. I remember talking in circles before school and during lunch of all of the different things we heard. We were so young and knew so much.
I didn’t know then that my life would be dramatically altered. I would have to take my shoes off at the airport, pack small shampoo bottles, watch my brother leave to fight in the war that would come. I didn’t know the hate that could arise toward a people after that, but I remember hearing about hate crimes toward the peaceful muslims in my hometown. I didn’t know about the hurt people could endure — I didn’t know how impressed into my mind the images of that day would be.
Every year I get a little emotional. I cry as I hear the beautiful stories of heroes who rose that day and in the weeks to follow. I recite the words, “you monster, you beast, you unspeakable bastard” aloud to myself. I think of how America united, how we stood by our city, New York, and joined hands to help. I think of how we gathered our resolve — each and every one of us — to go forward. To keep walking.
Politically we may differ in opinion on how we moved forward. I think that’s part of what makes America great. But what unites us, is the knowledge that every American is still thankful for each and every firefighter, first responder, police officer, political figure, military personnel, dog, horse, civilian, search & rescue team — every unit and every person who drew near to the thick smoke that day. Every year, we hear story, after story, after story, after story, of people who quietly gave their lives to help, of people who comforted strangers and, still others who left loved ones to serve. To those, we cannot express our deep and unending gratitude.
And we go forward with that gratitude. It’s because of them I married my husband and we have a sweet dog. It’s because of them I can go visit my mom and dad 1000 miles away. That I can laugh with my family on Thanksgiving and ring in the new year with joy. It’s because of them that we can have freedom from fear, that we can have freedom.
It all feels ages ago, but the chills on my arms remind me that it’s still brand new. We’re still figuring out how to move forward and how this will shape us. Where once we were a people getting up and going to work and school on 9/11 like any other day, those numbers, this day now stick out to us. We pause. We remember. We never forget.