It was a day later, in an empty golf cart barn where I cried.
I’ll never forget that. After two days of being glued to the television watching images of towers falling in a city I’d never visited and hearing stories of loss about people I’d never met, I sat down in a golf cart and shed a few tears. The shock had begun to wear off. The pure evilness and horror of all of it had become clear. How could one not take pause?
In the decade since the day the towers fell, I’ve visited New York City a handful of times. I’ve stared at the hole in the ground where they used to stand and tried to imagine their awesomeness. I’ve tried to envision the hell they must have caused when they crumbled. There are others who can envision it better, I’m sure. I never saw the towers in their glory. I never will.
You can have countless debates on how different things are ten years later. Are we a safer country? Is terrorism as credible a threat as it was back then? Did what it means to be an American change that day?
Those aren’t debates I’ll enter into today. That’s for moving forward. Today’s about remembering. Today, I want to recognize flags I walk by most other days. I want to call a friend I usually don’t. I want to cheer the return of professional football. I want to go for a run and enjoy every deep breath of fresh, fall air.
Ten years later I’m not the same person I was that day in early September 2011. My life, profession and passions have changed. Still, the memories of that day echo inside me a decade later. The images can be conjured up. I’ll live today full of pride, full of zest and full of kindness, but I imagine at some point I’ll let the memories flood and just like that boy in the empty cart barn…I’ll need a moment for pause.
