How could we anyway, those of us who watched and listened in shocked horror. It occured to me that not everyone knows the significance of 9/11. My kids don’t, in the same way that the assassination of John F. Kennedy seems so far away to me, and yet can be remembered by my parents. AS today has approached and people (and TV) have been referencing the day even more MOTS asked me what was so special about it all.
She was 20 months old when it happened. We did everything in our power to shield her from that day and the days that followed. But now. This last week. Now I have to tell her what happened. What it meant. How it made us feel.
How we all walked around in a haze for so many days afterward.
How I found I was pregnant with Hollywood on 9/12 and how that joy was partly overshadowed by the horror on the TV screen.
How I was scared to fly to Chicago that December.
How my job was put at risk by that act and the way it affected the travel industry.
How I cried every night for a week.
How we saw American flags were everywhere for awhile.
How I know a man who survived and how his written account of that day makes me sick to my stomach and makes me cry. Still.
How our country changed that day. The loss of a cultural innocence.
And how much closer I felt to my grandparents, who surely remember Pearl Harbor, but didn’t have to watch it live on television.
And how Americans came together.
That’s what I don’t want to forget. I want my kids to understand the importance of this day. Because I know I will never forget, but will they remember?