The truth is, we've just kept going.
The truth is, even though we have, we have all never been the same.
Yesterday, I stood on the subway platform which was incredibly crowded. It was the end of the day and the countdown clock indicated I'd be waiting at least 10 minutes for a train at rush hour.
I realized I wouldn't make the first train coming, I'd have to wait for the second and I was fine with that. I stayed back from the crowd by the platform edge at the 51st Street Station, chose my spot against the brick wall with a reasonable amount of space between myself and the next commuter. Droves of people were coming through the station to find their place.
A gentleman with a distressed energy about him stumbled towards the brick wall and landed between me and another guy with a hitchhiker backpack on. The distressed man was awkwardly close to the hitchhiker leaning on the wall facing him.
This alarmed me, immediately. Why would he just stop right here, right like this, so close? I noticed he had been holding something in his hand, what was in his hands? Was it a bag? I noticed he had on some kind of jacket, how big was his jacket? Was there something under the jacket? Was it a bomb?
I took note of the date.
It was 9/10.
It was a crowded subway platform.
It is 2018.
I imagined a detonation. I wondered if I would feel any pain or if it would be instant that I would die. The truth is, this is the world we live in.
The truth is, I know I am not the only one who lives with these thoughts, and not just during this time of year.
And the truth is, I do not know the pain of losing a loved one on September 11, 2001 but I do feel pain each year for a dear friend who will live with the loss of her loved one in these tragic events, forever. And then the pain cascades down to thoughts of the thousands upon thousands of strangers I may never meet who suffer the pain each year. I say a quiet prayer for them.
And even though I know our world will never go back to the way it was, I pray for it anyway.
