We all have a story. We all have moments in our lives where we remember just where we were, just what we were doing, exactly what we were thinking. Those moments that have ingrained themselves so permanently in our memories and in the entirety of our selves. There are feelings that, at the time, we think will stay with us forever, and in some way, they do. Some of those moments are happy ones with exciting news, surprise visits or long-awaited dreams coming to realization. Some of those moments are of pure panic, fear riding in on waves of uncertainty, anxiety building up, up, up until it threatens to explode from that central core within you that had, until that very time, been tenuously contained, safely tucked away.
For the first time, today is remarkably, eerily, similar to its predecessor 11 not-so-long years ago. Cloudless, crystal-blue skies, crisp chill in the air, so much like a first day of fall in the District of Columbia, in whose heart I resided at the time.
I don't need to tell my story. We all have one of our own. And there will never be need to embellish over time, as happens to so many stories throughout our lives. This one was vivid enough, needs no extras.
Today I will remember. Remember those that lost their lives, remember those that were forever impacted by the events that unfolded over those tragic, catastrophic hours, remember how our lives and the world around us have changed as the unfortunate but necessary result, remember those who have fought and are still fighting for our freedom.