Just about every year since September 11, 2001, I have watched some, if not all, of the reading of the names of those that died at the World Trade Center attacks. It's been seven years, but those families will always come out to the memorial ceremony. This year, some rather young children read names and then did it in memory of their father who died on 9/11. From how old they look, they probably barely remember him. Every year, what those family members say, often brings me to tears. Lives lost to soon. Children missing fathers, wives missing husbands, sisters missing brothers, and friends missing friends.
I am lucky, we did not lose anyone close to us on 9/11. I feel grateful for that. I also feel sadness every year for the thousands of people I never met, but yet feel their loss. Hearing their name, seeing a small picture, their age, and where they were from, makes it real. They were people with lives. If it weren't were fate, I could have been a grieving widow. My entire life would have been radically and tragically altered. God spared our family this pain. Other families were not so fortunate.
This year, I had to explain 9/11 to my oldest daughter, who was asked to where red, white and blue to school today. I gave a brief explanation of what happened. I didn't think a five year old needed to be frightened with images, she just needed to know it's a day to remember and to celebrate being an American. I'm sure in years to come, I will have to explain in further detail what happened to both my daughters. I don't look forward to that, but it's a part of life and now a part of history. A sad part of history.
If I live to be 100, I will always remember what I was doing when I heard of the 9/11 attacks. I will never forget.
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