Twelve Years

Here it is ... a few minutes after 11 p.m. ... Not even an hour left of this 12th Anniversary of 9-11-01.

It's not that I am just now sitting down to write because I've forgotten what day it is - I won't ever forget.

In fact, like many of you reading this right now, I will remember exactly where I was when I heard.

I was in college - The University of South Carolina-Upstate - and was heading toward a 9:20 a.m. class in the Humanities and Performing Arts Center. At the top of the stairs is a an open loft-style area and there was a television mounted in the corner. The news was playing and as I walked past, I saw the replay of the first plane hitting the North Tower.

As I stopped to watch - certain that I was seeing a preview for a new, awful movie - the broadcast cut to live coverage of the second plane flying into the South Tower.

I don't remember any of the people - fellow students, instructors - who were standing there, watching with me. I remember having an absolutely lost feeling.

And over the next few hours - as a third plane hit the Pentagon and as we heard the first reports of the fourth plane crashing into a field in Pennsylvania - I continued to be afraid.

If these things could happen in New York or Pennsylvania or The Pentagon, for crying out loud, it could happen anywhere. 

But today it's not forgetfulness that finds me saving my thoughts until the end of the day.

It was life.

On September 11, 2001, it felt like the world stopped turning, for just a moment.

And then the people mobilized.

First responders ran into the fire. 

Everyday, ordinary citizens hugged on the street, gave blood, gave money, packed up and went to Ground Zero to serve in any way they were able.

And today, twelve years later, I have remembered all day.

I've talked to my own children about the horror of that day. And of the beauty that grew from such hatred and horror. 

I've talked with my husband about how our fellow journalists, both television and print, stepped up to share information with the rest of us. Even though they had to be shaken. Even though they had to want nothing more than to be home with their own families.

I have remembered. 

And in honor of those whose lives were taken, of those who gave their lives, I choose to live. 

I choose to be a good neighbor who watches out for those who live around me.

I choose to raise my children to love and respect people of all races, all colors and all creeds.

Thank you, writers of The West Wing, for these words ...

"You want to get these people? I mean, you really want to reach in and kill them where they live? Keep accepting more than one idea. It makes them absolutely crazy."

- Joshua Lyman, Isaac & Ishmael

I will never forget.