9/11/20. Today is a hard day. Nineteen years ago, there was unspeakable, horrific, gut-wrenching loss. We watched tragedy after tragedy after tragedy after tragedy as planes hit and crashed over and over again, in short order, within minutes, in multiple states. Sorrows born on that day have grown and ached and stretched and twisted and waxed and waned a million times and in a million ways since that one fateful morning. People’s lives, changed in an instant. In a moment. Forever. Bright shining souls, taken too soon. Ordinary folks turned into extraordinary heroes. Stories of hope. Survival. People who never came home. Subtle changes in routines that transformed the trajectory of entire worlds, and placed people on a path that saved or a path that ended.
Today, in my own pocket of the world, nearly two decades later, I still question and wonder and hurt for those who still hurt. In a melancholy moment this morning, I looked up to see this. My four children are under one roof, learning remotely. My kindergartener was asked to bring today, for show and tell, something that she loved.
She chose her big sister.
Her seventh grade sister was so honored and proud and hopped off her morning advisory google meet to pop downstairs when the popsicle stick with Molly’s name was chosen from the cup by her teacher on the other end of the chrome book.
Moments like this are simple… but yet they are everything. Everything. I think of what some wouldn’t give to have their parent or child or spouse or sibling or friend or family member sitting at the table with them, bearing witness to similar moments, as big and small as this. The major life things, certainly… but also, just those dear, fleeting, sand-slipping-through-fingertips minutes that go and go and go… but when you’re in them? And your heart swells, and your eyes widen and a smile slowly spreads across your face and you are struck with the quiet gift of *living*? Still? Despite all the insanity? That… That is everything.
We can honor those who have gone before us by living this beautiful life awake. Grateful. In a tribute to the ones we love. I remembered an interview with Maria Shriver when she spoke with Deena Burnett (now Bailey) and her family about the heroic actions of her husband, Tom Burnett, one of the men who refused to sit quietly on United 93, and worked to thwart the terrorists’ plans on September 11, 2001. Several years after his death Deena said, “It’s great to remember, but better to honor. Honor comes from living a life worthy of the sacrifice.” May we all work to honor the fallen by living a life truly present and full of wonder, thankful for every moment we’ve got.
Care to share your thoughts?