On Saturday, I’ll be up sometime around 4:30am to get ready for the Tunnel To Towers 5K in Ft. Lauderdale. I thought about how inconvenient it is to have to wake up at that hour, on a Saturday no less. But my train of thought quickly changed. I’m getting up at that otherwise horrid hour in honor of all those lives lost on September 11th, 2001. I’m doing it for the families missing a loved one who got up around that time on that Tuesday morning ten years ago, perhaps to go to work, and never came home. I’m doing it for the children who’s parents weren’t able to pick them up at school because they never got there. I’m doing it for everyone who lost someone, be it a spouse, brother, sister, niece, nephew, grandchild, friend. I’m doing it because ten years have passed: time heals wounds, but it doesn’t make you forget. And I won’t forget.
That being said, there’s still hope. Ten years later, our nation is healing. There’s still a life to live, and there’s still love. My friend Tere knows what I mean. There’s no greater symbol of pureness, faith, hope and love than a baby, and she was blessed to become a mother six years ago on 9/11. Tragedy is inevitable, but so is love.