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Friday, September 11, 2015


14 years, and it's no less painful to see those images on the TV screen, is it? The reading of the names still chokes you up. Your heart still throbs when you listen to the stories, told again and again, just as they have been since That Terrible Day.

It's always a strange day, the 11th, clothed in so many colors. There's the remembered shock, the grief, the sadness. Panic still lingers on the back of the tongue. I remember the ripples of fear that swept across the country, the fear that another city would be next: my city, your city, all cities. The anger still boils up in the blood; tears still prick the eyes. It reached through screens and telephone lines and touched all of us that day, in some way. It wrecked families. It broke countless hearts.

And fourteen years later, we still mark it, we still take those moments of silence, we remember the lost, we thank the brave ones who ran into the fire. The magic thing, the truly wonderful thing, is that this day is a day for love. Remembrance. Holding one another's hands. A day for honoring heroes and loved ones. The countless acts of bravery, the thousands of stories of sacrifice, of grace - that is America. That it what humbles and amazes me. The enduring spirit, the legacies of heroism.

We the people, indeed.

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