You tell me that silence is nearer to peace than poems,
but if for my gift I brought you silence
(for I know silence)
you would say,
"This is not silence, this is another poem,"
and you would hand it back to me.
I ask you, 2.75 readers, to just take a moment today to set aside politics, your busy lives, your full schedules and duties to uphold, and reflect. If for but a fleeting moment. Remember where you were when you heard the news 8 years ago.
I remember how it made me cry.
How I placed my hand over my gaping mouth for the better part of the entire day.
How I was terrified to be working in a 20+ story building in downtown Minneapolis -- what if we were next?
But what I remember most is the pain I felt for everyone else. Everyone who lost someone that day -- though I think we all feel like we lost a little something.
And I remember, as an umarried girl of 20, being afraid to ever bring children into this world. What kind of childhood is it when you're brought up in a world of terror and fear and "heightened alerts?" And now, as the mother of 1.5 daughters, I realize that it's going to be just fine. A little different than the world I knew when I was growing up, but still just fine.
In fact, if anything, it'll be a world where we hug a little tighter, cuddle a little closer, "I love you" a little more often, and tolerate a little better.
I'd say that's a pretty good world, in the grand scheme of things.
And so, with quiet repose I ask for a mere moment of silence today for those who lost someone on 9/11/2001. For those who have lost their life in the fight that ensued following that tragedy, and for the men and women who continue to amaze us with their fortitude, their resilience, and their unyielding bravery.