So much has happened in the seven years since September 11th, 2001.
A few times each year, I’ll go back and read my own account of the experience I had that day in New York City. I can’t help myself from reliving it. It’s certainly not some morose fascination with death and destruction which leads me to do it. I think it’s more a reminder of something powerful that happened, is out there and still very much a part of me.
Every time I write about September 11th, I get stuck referencing how the day impacted ME and I've always felt there was an inherent selfishness there which I’m unable to break free of. However, I’ve never been able to easily communicate how much more so many other people lost that day, perhaps because my own memories overtake all my thoughts. Even on September 12th, 2001 when I first struggled to put into words what I saw, I wrote:
“The levels of loss people are going through now are indescribable and in the greater scheme of things, my escape from injury should make my story less important although at this time, I have difficulty thinking like that.”
It’s interesting to me how even after seven years, I can’t be a bit just a bit more sensitive to the thousands (or tens of thousands) of other stories out there. I wish I could. It’s like some kind of emotional block I have.
Each year has gotten a bit easier than the year before and I’m thankful for that. I will never forget the mood of the United States in the initial days, weeks and months after the attack. I hope my children never have to experience the kind of immersive fear so prevalent at the time.
Although the world out there doesn’t feel much safer than it did back then, I feel safer and that’s apparently enough.
Today, September 11th, 2008, I spent a lot of the day thinking about what it was like seven years earlier and hoping there is never, ever anything like that again in my lifetime or the lifetime of my kids.
I really miss the buildings, too.
