Remembering 9/11

Normally, I'm a pretty lighthearted person. But I'm in a reflective, somber mood.

Today, the Mid-Atlantic region is foggy. I am grateful for the gray mist because it matches my mood.

September 11, 2001 was a thick, bright blue, the kind of day that begs you to play hooky.
 I lived in the same town as some of the hijackers. They rented rooms in motels blocks away from my apartment building. They may have used computers at the library where we borrowed books. Had we run into each other? Brushed past each other while grabbing a burger or buying milk? Had I held a door open or unwittingly offered some other kindness to men in the midst of a terrorist plot?

One of the flight attendants who died that day was the mother of one of my summer interns. The project for which we hired the interns had dissolved by the end of July, so I'd lost touch. I mourn for her every year, as I do for all the people lost and left behind that day.  The death toll didn't end on 9/11, though, did it? The first responders who became ill; the survivors with PTSD whose depression ultimately claimed them; the soldiers sent off to war...

That day changed all of us. Even those who were not yet born, because they have only known our country while we've been at war. What does that do to a generation?

More personally, September 11, 2001 permanently altered the trajectory of my family of creation. Immediate educational and career changes. Service. Service. Service. Because what is the point of anything if you aren't using your gifts to serve, to educate, to help, to lighten someone's load?

That motivation manifests in different ways, but that's what I strive for in my relationships, in my volunteerism, in my writing.

Thanks for allowing me a brief ramble.