September 11th

Today, I will post two blogs. I rarely do it, but I feel that today, of all days, is the occasion.

September 11th is a day of tribute, reflection, and grief.

But September 11th is also a day of hope, life, and beauty.I think it's important to remember where we've been, but I don't expect the world to stop moving today.

We have spent 10 years as a nation mourning our loss, and we will spend a lifetime feeling the sting of that pain.

But ignoring all of the beauty in our world, and miraculous events that occur on this day is wrong, and disrespectful to the many lives lost in the terror. Their loss doesn't mean that we should grieve eternally. The best tribute we can offer is to REMEMBER them, and LIVE.

Today, one blog will be in remembrance. One blog will be in celebration of a life continued.

Reposted Blog: In Remembrance

Tomorrow My World Will Be A Different Place
September 11, 2001, as I lived it.


I wake up and roll over in the streaming sunlight. My room is filled with the smell of humidity and gasoline; I left my window open overnight to try and combat the stale, musty air of of the air conditioning.

I roll to my left where my radio is blaring too loud for me to ignore. It's early, and I have a morning class today. There's no way I can skip, I have a paper due, and this teacher brings new meaning to the word unforgiving.

I reach out to slam my snooze bar down. My fingerprints have worn a hole in the writing on the alarm; it now reads SN^^>E, but the tone in the DJs voice catches my ear. I normally don't have it on this station. Doc Holliday (Doc and Johnny Morning show) grates on my nerves. His caustic, misogynistic attitude is no way to start the day. But I snoozed to LoveLine last night, and they share a station.

They must be joking. A plan has crashed into a world trade center. Seriously, this is another one of those radio pranks they are famous for playing. But something in Doc's voice is haunting. He's not this good of an actor.  I roll off the bed and out into the living room. The cat, shuffled from his sleep at the foot of me bed, groans loudly, takes a swipe at my leg, and goes off to hunt the geckos that crept through the screen overnight.

My roommate is sleeping on the futon in the living room. I plop down on her bed and fumble for the remote control. She rolls over, sleep in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" She asks, the sleep heavy in her voice.

"A plane crashed in the world trade center somewhere. I'm turning on the news."

"What?" She asks, trying to put pieces of information together. "Don't you have to be at class in like 15 minutes?"

"Shh..." I flip the channel to WESH.

On the screen, one of the twin towers stands, smoke pouring from it's core.

"What happened?!?" My roommate gasps. "Was he flying too low?"

I don't even have time to push words out of my mouth when we watch the second plane crash into the second tower. My heart stops in my chest, and I can't catch a breath. A few minutes later, we watch as a proud symbol of American decadence crumbles to the ground.

"Oh my god." I turn, unable to process what I'm seeing. My mind pushes me to believe that this is a stunt; a movie; a magic trick gone tragically awry; anything other than what the news has only been hinting at so far. "There are thousands of people in that building! Oh my god! Oh my go..."

I choke as the realization hits me. Tomorrow, the world in which I live will be a different place. Late that night, I fight sleep, knowing that when I close my eyes and reopen them hours later, I might suddenly be longing for the world I'd left behind.