It’s 10pm on September 11th.

 

There’s still time to remember.

 

To remember the apartment I shared with a friend, a friend who’s parents were in the skies somewhere in America that very same morning 10 years ago.

To remember the panic that rose up within me, wondering if I should go to work, knowing I would not get any work done that day.

To remember watching and listening with co-workers as that morning played out, and the questions and fears that were in our words to each other.

 

To remember the days and weeks following, how I could not help but wonder if the airplane I was viewing above was destined for something terrible…again.

To remember the first time I sat in an airplane seat after that fateful day; how I thought about what those saw, heard, felt, knew that morning.

To remember shaking my head in disbelief as story after story poured forth of heroism and tragedy.

 

To remember the falling bodies, the darkened skies, the ash-covered faces, the fearful eyes, the grief.

 

So much grieving. So many lives lost who touched countless lives in nations around the world.

 

To remember to be thankful that God gave me another day to live, another day to love, another day to remember.

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