September 11th

At some point in time, "Never forget" became the official motto of remembering the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.  I cannot even count how many times I see those words appear on my Facebook news feed each year on this date.  I must admit...those words seem a little absurd to me.  As an American, who was over the age of 10 at the time, I do not know how it could even be possible to ever forget what happened that day.  Seriously, I do not need people on my Facebook feed reminding me not to forget.  I will never forget - and I don't know a single person who would - even if no one ever said a word about it.

I was only fifteen years old on that day, and I was very lost at the time, as I was crawling through the abyss of mourning my mother's death only three weeks earlier.  Did I completely understand what was happening?   Absolutely not.  Despite the fact that I was generally pretty mature for my age, I was still not quite mature enough to fully comprehend the implications or devastation brought on by the attacks.  But I still watched in horror, I still held my breath, I still shed tears, I still feared, and I still mourned right along with my fellow Americans.

I'm sure that everyone has their own story of how it effected them - whether they lost loved ones that day or, like me, were 3000 miles away and did not personally know a soul in New York City.  I remember being scared to death that there would be a war, and that my brother Nathan would have to go fight in it.  He was all I had left at that time, he was my only caretaker, and he was my best friend - and I knew that he would fight, whether he was forced to by some kind of draft or not.  I remember coming home from school that day to an empty house (as Nathan was working), and I walked to Mom's room, I lied down on her bed, and I cried - not really because of the attacks, but because I had no one at home to assure me it would all be okay.

Just as I knew he would, Nathan did go fight that war.  Twice.  And how blessed we are, because he came home both times.  Others were not as lucky, and those who lost loved ones on September 11th were not as lucky either.  My heart cries for all of them, and swells with gratitude that my brother made it home alive.

I do not need anyone to tell me "Never forget."  It will all be etched in my memory forever.  The sight of the towers falling. The images of the streets of New York I saw on TV.  The red, white and blue of flags flying everywhere.  The way I fought back tears for weeks while singing the National Anthem in choir shows.  The nervous breakdown I had in the car after I told my brother goodbye when he first left for Iraq.  The shock and awe I felt at the National History Museum in Washington DC when I stood next to the enormous smoked-stained flag that was hung over the Pentagon the day after the attacks.  The silence that surrounded Ground Zero when I visited it in 2004.  No, I don't think any of those memories are ever going to fade away.  So I guess everyone can keep going on saying "Never Forget" year after year, if it helps them remember, grieve, mourn, process, or simply feel a sense of solidarity.  But I am an American, and September 11th will be in my heart forever, even if those words were never uttered again.