…why do you do it every year? What is the point of putting yourself through the anguish of forcing yourself to face those images one more time?
To remember. Not just to remember the obvious – that we were attacked that day – but to remember every nuance. The color of the sky. The slant of the sun behind the buildings. It was a bit cloudier in Virginia at the Pentagon, but very bright in Shanksville Pennsylvania. The bakery at the end of my street had just taken something with cinnamon out of the oven as I ran by on the way to Heather’s. The general hysteria at the network newsrooms as they struggled to get information. Peter Jennings. Dan Rather. The smell of the barbecue chicken we picked up at the place across the street from Shawn’s. The falling bodies. The cloud of dust. The plaintive calls to TV stations, people wanting to report their loved ones missing. The taste of the Bloody Marys we drank that afternoon. The tea.
To remember the anger and eventual resolve. The pre-9/11 friends who said that America brought it on herself. The crying baby who kept breaking into the solemnity (and the inevitable black comedy) of the evening. That baby won’t remember what happened – but he will have grown up in a post-9/11 world. The dancing Palestinians. The Khadr family. Ken Basnicki and his family, who fight so hard against terror in Canada. Todd Beamer. Let’s Roll.
I want to remember all these things. I torture myself for one day every year, and I keep the burning flame of it with me for the other 364 days. It gives me the strength I need to keep publicizing the issues surrounding this war against Islam. It keeps me from giving up and switching off the TV/computer/radio. It gives me hope that we can win.
The rest of the year, I avoid the images of 9/11. I look away. I cannot bear them. But for one day of the year, I swallow them en masse to steel my resolve. And to soften my heart. People died. Human beings were murdered. I – like many others – often lose sight of that. This one day resets my internal equilibrium and allows me to carry on. This is Patriots Day.
Well said, my friend.
I found myself at a loss for words this year — feeling too much like I`d said it all too many times before.
Thank you for reminding me that it can never be said enough, how much that day impacted us all. And how much is at stake.
You rock. You said it all and eloquently, especially the part about who we’re really fighting (which most everyone else seems to be afraid to say).
Bless you.
You rock. You said it all and eloquently, especially the part about who we’re really fighting (which most everyone else seems to be afraid to say).
Bless you.