Every year I swear it'll be different.
Every year I swear it'll pass just like any other day.
Every year I lie to myself, and every year it catches up with me in the end.
Maybe it was the blue of the sky this morning; maybe it was the pictures of the Twin Towers littering my Facebook feed.
Maybe it's because today will never be just like any other day.
When I was a kid, I never understood how the older generation could remember everything about those momentous days of the 20th Century. Pearl Harbor. D-Day. The day JFK was killed. I'd see my grandparents tear up when talking about those days, remembering where they stood, the song heard before the radio cut over to news, the clothes they wore.
Now I get it. Now I know I wore jeans and a blue t-shirt. Now I remember turning off the Italian opera ton the bakery's sterio to turn on the news. Now I remember the sounds of people screaming as the towers fell. Now I remember the smell of the smoke, the ash, when we drove to Eagle Rock Mountain that night to view the stunning lack of towers.
I don't need to tell you I'll never forget. My predecessors have already done that for me.
Sarah Rossella Rhea Christina Alison Scott Kevin Michael Debra Daniel Mom Dad. Just a few of the people I think of on this day each year.
I'll hug Charles and Zoe tighter tonight, and say an extra "I'm thankful" at dinner.
Maybe next year will be different.
But I doubt it.
|My mother's reflection on a 9/11 memorial|
Photo credit: Wendy Soltis, 2013