Eight years ago today I was putting on my uniform for a day of work at Best Buy. I was a cashier on the morning shift. I grabbed my socks and was heading to the bed to put them on. My cell phone rang - it was John. A plane has flown into the World Trade Center in NYC. I sat on the bed stunned.
Still pretty young it didn't quite hit me how bad it really was. I went to work and on the radio it's all that was talked about. I worked in an Electronics store, and it was on TV. As the morning went on the seriousness of the situation was sinking in. I was crying at work and couldn't stop. But I had to move on. Business was business.
I was continually stunned after every plane crash. Who would do this and why? How had my home country (a place I thought was so safe) been violated like this? My life had seemed so happy - engaged and getting married in 9 weeks and in the process of buying the perfect little house. My fairy tail dream was crashing down.
I felt so bad, so, so bad for all the people who were suffering deaths (whether it be the person who jumped - or their family). I felt so sorry for the thousands of people directly affected by this tragedy. And yet...I felt so thankful.
I had no friends, no family touched by this awful day. I didn't lose someone and have to be reminded every day that the man responsible is still on the loose.
Every day for a few months afterwards, on my way to work I would see a man standing on a bridge over 494. He held a flag in the air. Sometimes still, sometimes waving. Sometimes I balled, sometimes I was numb to it. But I still remember. I remember the pain that people went through. I remember putting on socks. I remember.
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