by Stephanie Beck
The day has come again on the calendar. 13 years now, since the tragedies on the east coast of the States. I don't like thinking about the time, but the date always pops. I remember where I was, I remember how I felt in the weeks after, and years after as it was remembered. I remember the first wedding invitation I got that planned to use September 11th for their wedding (last year and it was a lovely day).
Today I explained about the day to my nearly 10 year old. I didn't like it. I really thought the distance of it would make the words come easier, but they were hard, because they brought back so many emotions. Her response, probably like mine was when I learned about Pearl Harbor the first time, was a general--that sounds scary and I don't like that it happened, can we ride bikes now--is the way of children. I don't want her to be hung up on it like we were 13 years ago, staring at the TV, waiting for more details. She'll understand more as she gets older, and I hope within the tragedy she remembers to look for the helpers--for the men and women who saw trouble and didn't waste time assigning blame, but jumped in to help those in need.
Such a hard day. I'll think about it a lot, and pray a lot, and then hug my kids a little longer than usual.