Three years ago, I wrote a piece for my Personal Essay class that allowed me to both confront and make peace with my experience with 9/11, a subject that I hadn’t really been able to talk honestly about for years. I won’t post the whole thing here. But this is an excerpt from it that still describes how I feel, ten incredibly short years later.
Mine is a different kind of fear, one that can’t be erased by distance, caused by a memory that is no longer merely that—it is a live-action film that plays continuously in my mind. I can mute the sound, turn off the screen, and distract myself with more appealing options, but the images will always be there, waiting to be jarred into motion. I am not afraid of the every day, nor have I ever felt threatened by my surroundings, but I still feel a jolt of fear every time a plane flies overhead, accompanied by visions of the past that I can’t erase.
I won’t ever forget. I can’t. That day is deeply etched on my heart. But the difference between me now and then is that I’ve had time to understand why I mustn’t forget. And now that it’s clear, I don’t want to. Our memories unite us now. Our memories are silent prayers to those who were lost. Our memories are our strength to move forward. We won’t forget, because we can’t. That day, those people, became a part of us as soon as we heard the news. You can’t forget yourself, and you can’t forget the day that changed your life forever.
I am remembering today, and every day.
