Ten Years.

Ten years.  Ten years since my 11-year-old self stumbled out of bed to find all the grownups in a concerned state as my grandmother’s T.V replayed over and over scenes from the mornings tragic attack.  My brother Andrew was in the hospital for the second time that year, mom and dad were with him almost all the time, grandparents attempted to fill their shoes and keep the rest of us fed and schooled; but no matter how “normal” the routine was, life was not right, I was scared.  Late on September tenth, Andrew was stable enough for mom to come home for the night; but instead of waking up to a morning of hope that our family would soon be reunited, I awoke to a day I will never forget as long as I live.

            Ten years.  It is hard to believe that much time has passed by.  In addition to my memories of that heartbreaking day, I have a special commemorative pin which started out in the hands of a New York Police officer, which he gave to a business associate of my dad’s, she in turn passed it to my dad who gave it to me.  I have kept it tucked away in my jewelry box for the past nine years.  I see it on those occasions when I need a necklace or bracelet, and then I remember; and I think, mom came home, dad came home, Andrew came home for three more years, but so many people didn’t have their moms, dads, and brothers come home.  Life is hard, loving and losing is hard, but when all the frustrations and trivialities of life are stripped away, it is the people we love that make it all worthwhile.  God Bless America.