What I want to say is, Remember. I remember. I honor those lost. I mourn with those who lost loved ones. I take a deep breath. I remember.

I am teaching my son about what happened on 9/11. We recently looked at some (appropriate) pictures and talked about that day. His father and I were married at the time (long before he was born), and I shared our story with my son. We lived in Manhattan at the time. I think/feel back to that day, those days, where I was in my life, how my husband at the time was almost on the subway (headed to his job that was in a building on the same power grid as building 7 of the WTC) when it happened but thankfully he stopped to see what was on the Today show before he walked out the door, the intensity of it all, calling my mother after the first plane hit before we knew what was even happening and telling her I was fine and asking her to call my grandmother (Gam, who I knew would have seen it and would be worried) and assure her I was ok, how we didn’t really breathe til much later that day when we were sure it was over, how we called each other, people we knew were in NYC, just to make sure we were alive, how quiet it was when I realized there were no planes allowed to fly anymore, how the next morning when I went outside for the first time, I heard a mother say to her children, “it’s ok now, the bad men are gone,” how when I went to the grocery store I was struck by the emptiness of the aisles because of course the food trucks good not get on and off the island (though we certainly had plenty of food), the flags I saw and took pictures of for weeks after, how proud I was of NY in the days, weeks, months after and the resilience I saw around me, the incredible kindness I saw and felt from so many people in the City…

I remember.