I was 17, a senior in Mrs. Caraway's English class in Clay, Alabama.
This boy I knew named Rusty was down the hall in a different class, already planning to join the Navy after his birthday the next week.
I remember thinking that night that my 7 year old sister would grow up in a different world than I had. I was scared and angry and confused. I'm pretty sure my parents were too because I don't remember us ever really talking that night, just watching the footage and crying.
In the days and weeks that followed, story after story came out about the nearly 3,000 people that died that day:
Heroes entered the buildings when everyone else was running out.
Forty brave men and women aboard Flight 93 lost their lives in a field in Pennsylvania while saving the lives of countless others.
Friends and family members joined the military to fight back against the violent extremists that attacked us.
Our country banded together and tried to move on.
Some say it hurts a little less each year. For me, I don't know if there's less hurt, but it's certainly a different hurt.
Because 10 years later, that baby sister is a senior in Mrs. Caraway's English class in Clay, Alabama. She'll be starting her adult life in a few short months, just like I did back then. I'm still scared for the world that she's growing up in.
And that boy I knew from high school? Well he is sitting on our couch here in San Diego, exhausted after working through the night.
He stood watch this morning on his base at the exact moment the attacks began 10 years ago today. I have never been prouder to be his wife.
It comforts me to know that he and so many others have dedicated their careers - their lives - to making sure that the victims and heroes of September 11, 2001 are not forgotten. I feel a little bit safer knowing that they devote every day to protecting our country from such heinous events as the ones that happened that day.
But it still hurts.
And I will never forget.
This boy I knew named Rusty was down the hall in a different class, already planning to join the Navy after his birthday the next week.
I remember thinking that night that my 7 year old sister would grow up in a different world than I had. I was scared and angry and confused. I'm pretty sure my parents were too because I don't remember us ever really talking that night, just watching the footage and crying.
In the days and weeks that followed, story after story came out about the nearly 3,000 people that died that day:
Heroes entered the buildings when everyone else was running out.
Forty brave men and women aboard Flight 93 lost their lives in a field in Pennsylvania while saving the lives of countless others.
Friends and family members joined the military to fight back against the violent extremists that attacked us.
Our country banded together and tried to move on.
Some say it hurts a little less each year. For me, I don't know if there's less hurt, but it's certainly a different hurt.
Because 10 years later, that baby sister is a senior in Mrs. Caraway's English class in Clay, Alabama. She'll be starting her adult life in a few short months, just like I did back then. I'm still scared for the world that she's growing up in.
And that boy I knew from high school? Well he is sitting on our couch here in San Diego, exhausted after working through the night.
He stood watch this morning on his base at the exact moment the attacks began 10 years ago today. I have never been prouder to be his wife.
It comforts me to know that he and so many others have dedicated their careers - their lives - to making sure that the victims and heroes of September 11, 2001 are not forgotten. I feel a little bit safer knowing that they devote every day to protecting our country from such heinous events as the ones that happened that day.
But it still hurts.
And I will never forget.
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