Today marks the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I don't think anyone in America will ever view the date the same as they did prior to that tragic day. I was in bed when my husband called and said a plane had hit one of the towers. I'll never forget sitting in front of the TV, watching in horror as the events unfolded. I can see the shock on the newcasters faces when the first tower started to fall.
I held my baby girl, feeling such relief, and then guilt, knowing there were some who would never be able to hold their children again. She's ten years old now, in fifth grade, always laughing, and sometimes driving me insane. And then I think about the families who would give anything they possessed to have one more touch, one more glimpse of a loved one lost.
This really hit home for me a few days ago. My CP asked me to go shopping with her. She needed a gown for a formal dinner party. I live about an hour from Washington, so we were going nearby to shop. We missed our turn and had to go through the pentagon parking lot. I could almost see it as it was that day, flames and smoke rising from its side.
Our country changed that day. Through grief and unity we became stronger. And we saw real heroes and heroines in action. I've never been more proud to be an American than when I watched the men and women rushing selflessly to save others, giving their lives so someone else could live. This post is a reminder to myself to stop and remember the men, women, and children who were lost and the families that still grieve. We will never forget.
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St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital