Confessions of a Readaholic

Outside the day is clear and blue, a typical Floridian sky. They say it was also just a typical clear, sunny day ten years ago to this day in New York City, Washington, and Pennsylvania. No one, least of all the parents and loved ones of many families, expected to end their lives short because of the sadistic and heartless terrorist planning to make a statement on this country. The high jacking of four commercial planes, the strike on the Twin Towers and Pentagon, the heroic efforts of the passengers on flight 93, the shocking and inevitable collapse of our beautiful Towers, and the destruction of the many lives involved only took a couple of hours, and yet it is something that to this day, 10 years later, it still brings tears to our eyes.

There isn’t much I remember from that day, I was about six years old when it happened. The events from that horrible day just seemed to blur together into a day when everyone cried, everyone seemed to have a frown on their face as if it were permanently etched into their faces. A woman who would always pick us up on days when my parents were out of town on work picked up my sisters and me from school that day. I remember my sisters crying nonstop, asking questions and questions about our parents who happened to be in New York City on September 11. I remember crying along with them, along with everyone. I can’t say whether I understood, but I remember feeling like something big was happening, and the sadness from everyone around me was enough to make me sad.

Now, a decade later, I know that my parents had overslept and stayed in their hotel that morning instead of going to work, safe and sound. It took them days to return home to us again because they had to drive all the way here, but I remember being picked up by them at school and everyone was alright again. A decade later, and now 15 years old, I am so grateful to God for bringing them home to us again. I think back to the kids who lost their parents from those attacks and it makes me tear up thinking that they all went to school that day like me, but never got picked up by their mom or dad. Many people lost their live—firefighters, volunteers, regular businessmen and women, people of surrounding buildings, plane passengers—but for some reason this year, I also thought a lot of the kids who lost their parents. How old would they be now? 10? 13? 16? 20? How much did they lose from this? Their parents, but also the normalcy of their childhood. Their day to day routine of having their dad tuck them in or their mother pick them up from school, all lost because people they didn’t know and had nothing to do with decided to make a statement and see America panic. We were united that day and we are still united ten years later. Did they expect that? Not a year has gone by that we haven’t remembered, haven’t reflected on the events of that day. Though left behind by those we cherish now dead, we move forward with the grace of a nation who knows how to stick together. We never forgot.

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