Tonight marks the 18th Anniversary of the last normal night in the lives of thousands of Americans. In fact, tonight marks the 18th Anniversary of the last normal night of America.
I am writing this blog on the eve of the 18th Anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. A day that reigned terror for American’s of all levels. I was 8 years old. I was sitting on my couch putting my shoes on watching the news. What I saw was both terrifying and confusing.
I saw men and women throw themselves from the World Trade Center. I saw flames coming from the WTC. I saw people running for their lives from a building falling. I witnessed an American horror story right before my eyes. I wasn’t even able to properly grasp what had happened.
18 Years later, I sit here thinking about those lives lost. I think about the wars that followed. I think about the unity that was there for months and years after.
I am thinking about the first responders who gave their life. I am thinking about those first responders who died when the buildings fell and those who survived the horror only have cancer kick their ass. I am thinking about the kids without dads and moms, and the brothers that lost their sisters and sisters that lost their brothers.
September 11, 2001 was an American Horror Story. We must not forget. We must remember the pain we felt and the unity we sought. We must, as a country, mourn the lost.