This morning I wake to another September 11. I spend my morning alone time watching a documentary on the aftermath of 9/11 and stories of the survivors. I feel guilty, or maybe self-indulgent, when I consider my own experience of watching the events, with my 14 year old son, unfold on TV and how I fell to the floor when I saw the towers fall. My painful memories of that event are nothing compared to those who lost their loved ones and the children who lost their parents. I think of these people each year this day passes.
In an hour I will make coffee for my loved one. I will carry out my morning ritual as I do everyday (with the knowledge that others had their morning rituals changed that horrible day). Coby and I had met online, but not in person on 9/11/01. We had been chatting online for about a year at that point. I did not know at that time that he would become my loved one, my husband. But I remember us sharing in the sadness and loss. We have been together on every 9/11 since that day. I am grateful for each day I have with him in my life and it is not lost on me the fragility of life.
In about an hour the reading of the names of the victims will be read and the families will relive this day and their loss. Hopefully, somehow, these people have found ways to move forward, created new morning rituals and embraced a new life.
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