Sunday, September 11, 2011


Ten years have gone by in a flash.  Like most Americans, I'll never forget that crisp, electric blue September morning.  Feeling immense hope with my first child on the way, but so fragile from my ulcerative colitis diagnosis just a few weeks earlier; the world seemed both full of possibilities and kind of terrifying at the same time. 

Mike called to tell me about a horrifying plane crash in NYC.  Once I exited the train and arrived at work, the unbearable tragedy unfolded before us.  I stood wedged in an office doorway, with my friends and co-workers leaning against walls and sitting on the floor, watching the only television we had. 

We now have three children who don't know what happened that day, don't understand the emotion we all felt when we watched the towers fall.   With Bin Laden's death and the 10th anniversary, they've started to talk about it at school.  Today, I decided to tell them my honest, but child-friendly version.  Logan and Riley became teary-eyed as I explained how regular people became heroes that day, in so many ways, to ensure the safety of others.  "Super heroes?" Finn asked.  "Definitely," I said.

Later we visited our downtown memorial, where thousands of pairs of shoes lined our village streets to represent those people never recovered, including a basket of baby booties symbolic of the numerous unborn children that died that day.  It was breathtaking.

I will never forget the details of the day, the sacrifices made September 11, 2001, those made throughout the ten years that followed and those still being made today.  These heroes deliver us our freedom, they ensure our safety and allow us to raise our children with the belief that goodness is intrinsic to our world.  I am forever grateful.

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