9/11 seemed to be odd this year. Mired in politics. Shameful actually. That’s not what that day should be about. The day should be about remembering. And that’s what I did.
I thought back: What I did. Where I was. The people I was with.
I thought back to all the people who had American flags on their cars. Where are those now?
I thought back to the feeling of being hopeless. Lost. Not knowing what was going to happen next. Were we safe?
I thought to how I know that on any given day that something very similar could happen again. On the train I take to work everyday. (This morning there were 58 people in my subway car. I’m not the only one who knows that.)
I thought about how every day is a gift.
Every morning I pass an apartment building with two plaques dedicated to residents who passed in the 9/11 attacks. I walked by them on Saturday to pay my respects. I just wanted to walk by them. That’s all.
It was nice to see that both plaques had flowers surrounding them. One of them had the man’s picture on it. He was young. He was married. He had a small child. His daughter is probably 10 or 11 now. That made me really sad. It made me realize that not every victim died that day. There are plenty still among us.
It would be a lie if I said that I didn’t get a little bit emotional standing in front of that apartment building.
I went home and watched a couple of documentaries on what happened that Tuesday in September nine years ago. The whole time I thought to myself, “Why is this world so crazy?”