Ten Years

Ten years.

More than half of my life.

It's always been there.

I don't remember it not being there.

It would have been just a normal day. One that blended into all my other memories of first grade. But it's that outside event that makes that day memorable.

Although really, I think that day only has significance in retrospect, because I was much too young to have any idea what was going on. I just knew that about half our class left. We were all sitting on the floor with the teacher reading to us. The secretary kept coming on over the loudspeaker saying another parent was there to pick up their child. The teacher seemed slightly on edge. Or maybe I'm just making that up. I think all the teachers were glued to the TV during lunch.

On the anniversary in 7th grade we watched documentaries. That was the first time I had really watched any footage or heard any stories. The first time I really thought about it. That I actually gave it time to sink in.

Sitting at that desk as my friends bustled around me, excited for lunch. Tears in my eyes, a heavy lump in my gut. Trying to process, trying to understand.

That, for me, is much more meaningful than the same date, five years earlier.

Since then, I've learned the facts. Statistics. Conspiracy theories. Implications.

Still, every time I open the Wikipedia page on 9/11 (because so many things are linked and connected to that date), I pause.

I take a second out of my busy day to sit. Let it sink in. To remember that 3000 is more than just a number; they were lives.

I look at the images of smoke, flames, rubble, and charred plane bits. And I remember. The lives lost, the wars waged, the lives still in peril, and and same issues that still plague our world.