ripping off scabs

I’m not going to tell the story of where I was or what I was doing eleven years ago. I’ve told the story enough. It doesn’t matter to anyone but me what I was doing. Stop asking. If you need stories, re-read the stories from the people who lost loved ones, from the people who stood in the clouds of concrete, from the people who walked into the burning buildings and the people who walked miles to get home while their loved ones waited and hoped. Those stories are written in tears. If someone wants to re-tell their story, they will do so without you asking.

It is impossible to forget what happened eleven years ago. The emotions are always just beneath the surface and every image from that day makes the tears fall again. Every single ‘never forget’ on fb, Twitter and Tumblr makes me want to stand in my yard and scream, “I want to forget those feelings. I want this to be something taught in history class and not the one memory that never, ever goes away.” But, I don’t.

Everyone has their own way of living with the grief of 9/11. Watch the videos. Change your avatar. Post ‘Never forget’ on every social media site. Do whatever helps you live with the horror. I draw the line at the people and professional media who spent today attacking others for not expressing their pain, for expressing their pain without using specific words, for daring to suggest that the day be remembered in a way other than someone else’s way or for posting pictures of fluffy kitties all day. Everyone hurts. Talk to the people who want to talk and leave others alone.

I wish today was a day to celebrate fire fighters and police officers. I love the schools, churches and businesses that have made today a day to volunteer in their communities.

I can’t change the past. I don’t want to relive it one day a year. I want America to do what it does best. Be resilient.

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