This is going to be a long, disjointed post, so hang in there.
As I lay in bed this morning, staring at the clock as the minutes passed, recalling the exact moments the commerical airplanes crashed in New York and D.C. I was struck with a dichotomy of emotions.
On one hand, I feel very, very sad. That was a horrific day. My daughter turned 5 months old that very day, and I was sick at the thought of what the world would become for her and her children and in some ways I still am. 9 months later, I was in NYC when they held the last chapel service at the clean-up site, which then became a reconstruction site. I interviewed victims' family members, survivors from both towers, firemen, policemen and scores of relief workers. The pain those people will carry with them the rest of their life is overwhelming. I would be with these people and we could be talking about anything, sports, weather, work, and they would just start crying. Whether because they missed their family and friends or because there was now a gaping hole in the most famous skyline in the world, both are justified and both are tragic. My empathy was at an all time high for those 6 days...it brought a whole new meaning to this date. I cringe whenever I hear this date, Idivert my eyes whenever I see pictures of the old skyline, and I ache on this, the fourth anniversary of the most horrible thing I've ever experienced, watching those towers collapse.
On the other hand, I remember the grand patriotism born out of this act of cowardess. The renewed sense of brotherhood and compassion and volunteering evidenced in the stories of courage, bravery, sacrifice and valor. Men and women who were heroes before this date became primee examples of what a human being is capable of when they forget themselves and live for others. I am so proud of how Americans responded to this tragedy. Partisan politics was nowhere to be found (for a time) and elected leaders like Rudy Guiliani and George Pataki showcased true leadership, offering solidarity and resolve in a chaotic time.

Part of me wants to go back to a more naive time, when I wasn't aware of militant terrorist groups, when I didn't think the rest of the world hated us in the U.S., when I didn't fear for the future of my children.
If I could, I would, but since I can't, I'll try to learn from it, and press on.

And to all the folks I met in June of 2002, I still pray and cry for you...God bless.