9/11
I really hate when 9/11 comes around every year. Something about this day brings saturnine clouds to my life that no home-remedy or medication could ever disperse. I was born approximately a year before it happened, just a few days before my birthday. But something about this day truly bothers me. I didn’t have family that passed, nor do I know anyone who did. I really have no connection besides the fact that I, like almost all those who perished, am an American.
I was too young to remember 9/11, but I feel like it has had immeasurable impacts on my existence. Not only as an American, but as a person. Every innocent person who died that day had a story. They had a family. They had hopes, dreams, and passions just like all of us. Every anniversary we are reminded of these stories. From the brave passengers on United Flight 93 who refused to allow another building to fall; to the brave first responders who faced certain death and refused to yield; and to the normal, average person just reporting to work. These stories remind us about what it means to be an American, and how exceptional individuals live among us.
But the story I really want to highlight comes from September 12th. Much like the Alan Jackson song, Where were you, America had stopped turning. Flights across the country were grounded, Americans, young and old, grappled with the certainty that life would never be the same. Everyone, for the first time in a long time, forgot about mundane repetitiveness of life. They were concerned with one thing, one thing we don’t have enough concern for now: our fellow Americans. September 12th was a day where everyone put aside their differences and did what they could to help others. That feeling of caring so deeply about strangers you’ve never met or cared about until today is called - Love. September 12th marked one of the last days where we, as Americans, truly loved each other. No one gave a shit who you voted for or what you thought about any random political issue. We were one nation, united by the shared grief and sadness and reverence we had for the Americans we lost the day before. Some things are more important than dogmatic political ideologies and physical attributes, and we realized that in the wake of that tragic day.
The remnants of a radio/tv antenna from the North Tower on display at the Newseum - Washington, D.C.
The reason why I hate this day is because of how it makes me feel. It makes me feel the same way many Americans felt watching the towers falls and the pentagon blaze. That feeling is helplessness. You just have to sit in your comforting home and watch as others suffer. America was truly exceptional in the wake of 9/11, and everyone knows that. We were a county living up to the principles espoused by our founding fathers. We were indivisible, seeking justice and answers for what had happened. The 12th marked one of the first times in history we were the county that we were designed to be.
We’re Americans, trying to live our lives in our own little ways. There’s nothing wrong with that. But remember, we’re in this together. That feeling that I so dread on this day reminds me of the famous John Donne poem.
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
Life loves on, and so will we. Be the American that those in the wake of 9/11 would be proud to call one of their own. Never forget what happened that that, and tell others that you love them. So many families thought they would get another day, but life is a gift: and that is why it’s called the present.