I wasn’t going to post today.
Of course I remember where I was. I remember not quite understanding what was happening at first. I remember finding out friends of mine knew people who, just a few hours south of where I sat, barely made it out alive. Or didn’t.
But I also remember before. I remember an America that wasn’t scared. An America that didn’t see a world full of impossible problems and hidden enemies. I remember when we, perhaps with a tad too much pride, had the optimism and drive to work with the rest of the world with our sleeves rolled up and our eyes on a bright future.
What is the legacy of 9/11? Why do we let the loudest voices in the national monologue reopen this wound year after year in the name of remembrance? Does this patriotic posturing honor those who perished? Those who serve? It’s trite at this point to say that by staying fearful and angry that we have let the terrorists win. 17 years on, we are doing this to ourselves.
We need to heal. The loved ones of those who were lost that day need us to heal. Our children need us to heal, or the world we leave them will be meaner, colder, and dimmer than they deserve.
Of course we remember. But what have we forgotten?