The North Tower collapsed.
America felt helpless. Her citizens began to scramble for hope, praying, and holding their breath as they waited for what would come next.
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Your levels are dropping.
There is no heartbeat.
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I felt helpless. I began to scramble for hope, praying, and holding my breath as I waited for what would come next.
I was stuck in traffic on the way to school.
How were people still functioning? Don’t they know what happened? Don’t they know the sorrow?
I mourned the birthday my baby never had, the day the towers fell. I lamented alongside America for the approximately 3,000 people who lost their lives that day for reasons we don’t understand. When we lose people we love, it is not often that the world stops with us. That day it did.
For me, national tragedy marks personal tragedy. Every year, as America remembers, I count the years and take a moment to speculate in remembrance what that child would have been like, when our country would cease being afraid, and where those mourning families are today. The weight of sorrow has lifted, but I’ll never forget. My baby would have been 21 this year.
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An earlier version of this post first appeared at The Portland Moms Blog, published with permission.
