I’ve forgotten a lot of things in my life. Growing up, I always found it fascinating that my parents could tell me things like, “I remember exactly where I was on November 22, 1963” or “I remember that very moment on November 20, 1969.”
Who remembers things with such clarity?
I was nine years old on January 28, 1986 but have no recollection of where I was, or even of any immediate knowledge of what had happened.
Today is September 11, 2010. Today I will write a remembrance.
The morning of September 11, 2001 started just like any other day. Trite, but true. I rolled out of bed, got ready for work, and hopped in my car. There was a radio show I loved to listen to in the morning, so I turned on my radio, looking forward to a good laugh.
Nobody was laughing.
I’d go into detail about the disbelief and horror that I felt, but most people who read this know those very feelings.
I drove to work on autopilot. When I arrived, people spoke in hushed tones. Coworkers gathered around a lone TV, trying to grasp what was happening. My coworker upstairs, the one we teased for her New York accent and mannerisms, desperately contacted family members and friends.
I remember.
Many years from now, my sons will ask me about that day.
I will remember.
