Every Year

Every year I remember September 11th. 

Every year, I make myself remember the horror, the devastation, the terror, the anger because it needs to be remembered.

 Each year, there are days that I make a point to remember certain things and certain people -- anniversaries of the days that special people have died or events happened.  Truthfully, when I remember those people, often the memories become less painful with time.  Often, the joyful memories remain and the days of remembrance or days honoring their life and less focused on their deaths.  This is not the case with September 11th.

Every year I remember September 11th, I become more angry.  I was 18 years old when 9-11-01 occurred, and the day was horrible.  These years later, I reflect on the day but I am now an adult, a voter, a wife, a mother... a homemaker who dreams of someday taking my children to see sights in New York City.  A mother with small children who would rather do anything than watch my children be harmed and scared... as so many children and families were harmed and scared on that day.

Every year I remember, the tragedy of that day becomes more real to me.  Every year I burn with more anger.  Every year I shed tears and wish it wasn't real.  Every year I wish it wasn't a memory.  Every year I fear the next attack.  Every year I dread the day when I will actually explain this day to my children complete with videos, news footage, my personal memories, and the true events of the day.

Every year I remember September 11th.

Every year I burn with anger about September 11th.