My 10 year anniversary is on Friday. So I’ve been reading some old cards and notes from Rick. They are so sweet and earnest. I found one from January 2001. It was mostly about how I was the most awesome girlfriend ever and how happy he was. Since we were only about 4 months into our relationship, I can only assume he had yet to find out that I wore slippers to bed and hated Chinese food and other character flaws.
But as much as I adored reading his loving words, it was the date that really took hold of me.
January 2001. Nine months before September 11th.
As he wrote that note, there was still time. Plenty of time to stop it all from happening.
But no one knew what was coming.
There are things we just can’t undo in life. Painful terrible things that we so desperately want to change and just can’t. We are left to absorb the overwhelming emptiness and weep for what will never be. A friend of mine recently suffered a terrible miscarriage. And a friend wrote to her,
“It’s the ordinary of a regular day that stands in such stark contrast to the grief inside that really gets me. Shouldn’t the whole world pause for a moment in sadness too? And, yet, here are a whole bunch of us—pausing with you.”
And this is also a day to pause. In the sadness of it all. Remembering everyone who didn’t come home that night. And remembering those who have left us since because they courageously spent weeks sorting through the rubble and inhaling the toxic fumes or because they bravely fought for us overseas.
There are some moments in life you don’t make peace with. They just become a part of you. Your fabric. Your layers. 9/11 is one of those days.