Well, those feelings all came rushing back today, when I turned on the TV to watch some of the memorials. I'm not sure exactly what triggered it - the moments of silence observed at the times when each plane crashed; the sight of the elderly couple standing in the rain at the NYC memorial service, huddled together under their umbrellas; or the words of the survivors as they read off the names of victims and offered their own personal statements of love and grief. Whatever it was, I found myself, suddenly, sobbing.
As long ago as that day seems, once you let yourself remember what it felt like, this life-changing event once again becomes all too real.
In light of this, it was with a touch of -- I'm not sure, sadness? Depression? Confusion? -- that I read this article in today's Washington Post. It's hard to believe that we've now entered a sort of new era, one in which not everyone remembers exactly what they were doing that day, or how it felt. I can only hope that I can pass along the important parts of that day - the way we all came together as a country, the way politics was put aside, if only for a moment, the way we all wanted to do good with no expectations of acknowledgment for our service - to my son, so that he will always remember, too.