The eleventh of never

Seven years later
I still cannot live today
Like every other.

I have a hard time knowing how to be today. It feels wrong to ignore the anniversary, but I don’t know how to observe it meaningfully either. I’ve always found it odd that other cities around the country (including the small town that neighbors Mayberry) have 9/11 ceremonies and memorials. I guess everyone felt their country was under attack that day. But even though I was there that day, I didn’t lose anyone close to me, so any remembrance, anything I could offer, feels false and disconnected, like those memorial observances hundreds of miles away.

Instead, today I’ll choose to be grateful.

For the doctors and nurses who healed our daughter this summer, and for the insurance that paid for all but $500 of the nearly $100,000 cost.

For the men and women who teach and care for my children every day, who help them learn and grow.

For the sturdy old house that shelters my family and me.

For my own health and that of my husband and children and parents and siblings and mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law.

For my work and the colleagues with whom I share it.

For my friends online and off.

And I pray that those who don’t have these blessings may one day know them.