Journey Through the Great Sadness

I used to be fascinated when people older than me somberly remembered the day JFK was assassinated. They often spoke in terms of “before” and “after”. I never fully understood what they meant until I experienced my own “before and after” seven years ago today. The morning was simply beautiful, much like today in Indianapolis, only a bit warmer. Hints of fall were in the air while summer’s warm kisses struggled to let go.

RJ’s brother was in the south tower. Thankfully, he made it out alive. That was still my “before”. My “after” came when someone said, “What was that?” I’ll never forget the sound and all that came after Flight 77’s rude intrusion into the Pentagon’s walls of rock and steel.

Sometimes I hate this day. I don’t want to remember all I saw, heard, smelt, and felt that day and in the days that followed while I covered these historic events at the Pentagon and at Ground Zero. I don’t want to be forced to remember because of an anniversary; healing comes in my own time. But, I am thankful people haven’t forgotten. While I don’t want to remember, I don’t want to forget. I’m certain I won’t.

And I hope you won’t forget either, the nearly 3,000 good people who died on this day seven short years ago. If you see a firefighter or police officer or EMT, shake their hand. Tell them you appreciate their bravery and service in our times of need. Call your husband or wife and remind them that you love them, even if you won’t come home ever again. Say a prayer for those who still struggle with the pain of when summer’s day met dark and evil.

Simple, never forget.