It’s been 17 years. Seventeen years to the day when many of us in my generation grew up. The day reality hit. The day we transformed from that kid trying to figure out life, into the adult who just realized plans and life can change in an instant.
If I had been standing in my yard that day, I could have seen Flight 93 fly over. But I was at work. Remember? It was just a normal weekday. Until about 8:45 am.
Think about that. Before 8:45 am, seventeen years ago, it was just a normal weekday.
I see lots of posts this morning about “never forget”. Forget? Really? How could we? Sometimes I wish I could forget. The images in my mind are haunting. I still see the fire, smoke, people running, sirens, bodies falling from buildings, ash covering everything, papers falling through the air into the streets, firemen running towards danger, buildings crumbling to the ground, the cloud of debris coming through the streets of NY that no one could outrun, the fear.
No, I’ll never forget. But my kids will never remember. My daughter was 6 months old and my son wasn’t even born yet. I was 30 years old the day I grew up. I’ll never forget it. And I vaguely remember what it was like at 8:44 am, September 11, 2001 – when it was just a normal workday.
My kids won’t remember that either. 💙
