September 11, 2016, can it really be 15 years since this horrific day? I refuse to say “anniversary” because to me that denotes a celebration. It has been 15 years since nearly 3,000 people lost their lives and thousands more were injured. It has been 15 years since the lives of thousands were changed forever. It has been 15 years since millions witnessed our world fall into a darkness that we never could fully recover from. For out of this tragedy we would lose countless more lives in wars fought for freedom from terrorists.
Where were you on that day? Perhaps you are too young to remember or like me, it is burned into your very being. I was home with my infant son, who happened to be born that year. My husband called me from work and told me to turn on the news. I was glued to the television that day, as were millions. Watching in horror as the towers collapsed. Questioning, “WHY?” The tears were like waterfalls, yet never truly washing away the pain and ache within my heart and soul. Days, perhaps weeks filled with sadness and mourning. While I personally did not know anyone that was lost, like so many, I grieved for those that were grieving. I mourned with our world over the destruction and chaos that our nation found itself in. It was the darkest days our world has ever seen in this century.
We MUST NOT forget those who died. We cannot forget those that have died since- running in to help search, filling lungs with toxins that have since cost them health or their very lives. The brave and fearless, the firemen, police officers and even those that were every day people turned hero that day. Those on the planes, this my mind cannot comprehend. The soldiers that chose to go to war for this cause, never to return. Men, women and children… let us never forget what freedom costs. History should be written so our future generations hold this day with high reguard. Solemnly remembering the day that changed us all. Prayerfully hopeful that we will never relive a misery so sensless ever again.
“The time is ripe for looking back over the day, the week, the year, and trying to figure out where we have come from and where we are going to, for sifting through the things we have done and the things we have left undone for a clue to who we are and who, for better or worse, we are becoming. But again and again we avoid the long thoughts….We cling to the present out of wariness of the past. And why not, after all? We get confused. We need such escape as we can find. But there is a deeper need yet, I think, and that is the need—not all the time, surely, but from time to time—to enter that still room within us all where the past lives on as a part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are most alive ourselves to turnings and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember—the room where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we remember consciously to remember the lives we have lived.”