It has been six years since that morning I woke up to hear the radio commentators going "A plane has apparently hit the World Trade Center" and then made it to the television just in time to see the second one strike.
I didn't live in New York then, but in Boston. Where we were suddenly very afraid of our airport and of flying anywhere. I had a friend who bought a fancy bed for a song from an Arab man who had to sell everything and get out of town on Sept. 10. It does make one wonder. Can that be a coincidence?
Today, New York City is gray and it is raining. It's like the city is crying. Sirens roared past my office and I shivered. A crash of thunder made my stomach crash. Sometimes, while I know it's irrational, I am afraid. And I hate that.
Maybe it's the endless re-hashing people seem to need to do on days like today. Anniversaries of tragedies are delicate times. It's important to us to remember the past and keep alive those we loved and the things we lost that were precious to us. But it's also important to remember that dwelling on suffering isn't a good way to live, and that moving on doesn't have to mean something in the past was not significant. Life-changing. Defining. I wish America had used its chance to define who it would be after that tragedy for something noble and good, rather than for a war of _____ (fill in your own depressing word). I'd call it a war of convenience if it seemed at all convenient. Every day we sink further into the mire, and every day I'm a little bit sadder that being an American isn't such an honorable thing anymore when you cross our borders.