Remembering

Hard to believe it, but it really has been eight years. 2921 days since we were all changed. Only I don’t really believe that. No, I’m not in the Charlie Sheen group, that believes 9/11 was the work of our own Government. I just no longer believe we’ve changed. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s how we win, by not letting them really change us.

Things have changed, don’t get me wrong. Longer lines at the airport, for starters. Then there’s the argument about the rights we’ve lost in the aftermath. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the change we all felt in the seconds, minutes, days, weeks and even months after 9/11. Back when it was cool to care. There was less road rage, we had more patience for the lady in line at the grocery store who happen to forget when paying the cashier took place. Drives finally pulled to the side of the road when they saw those flashing lights behind them.

That’s still not what I’m talking about. There was a period of time, and I can’t say when it ended, I just know it did, that we had genuine concern for our neighbors. A time when we all got misty when we heard the National Anthem, and even cheered for the Yankees for one October. Party affiliation was an after thought, and the color of your state didn’t matter.

Eight years since we watched those two giants come plummeting down to earth, and even though we all remember exactly where we were, I think we’ve forgotten how that felt. Maybe that’s for the best, because we’re supposed to push forward. That’s healing, right? But today I say screw that. Today, and every September 11th we have left, should be dedicated to remembering. Not just the date, or the other numbers we’ve etched in our brains. Numbers like: Flight 93, 1 World Trade Center, 2 World Trade Center, Flight 77, 19 hijackers, and Flight 11, as those are easy to remember. I want to remember that knot in my stomach. I remember how I wanted to check in with my family and friends, especially those who travel often. I remember that a friend of mine was in New York when it happened, and how his brother-in-law escaped the World Trade Center just days before he was married. Today I remember the sound of those who jumped from the windows, and how many kids didn’t get to see their parents come home that day. I know it’s another number, but an estimated 3,000 kids lost at least one parent that day. And with that, I want to remember how I felt the first time I watched “Telling Nicholas” on HBO.

“Mom’s not coming home, little man.”

I want to remember the pride I felt. Proud of how American’s acted that day. Today is about that day, not the other shit that came after. We promised to never forget, and although it’s probably the least we could do, it’s also the best we can do.