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.
Many years from now, my sons will ask me about that day.
I will remember.