Have you forgotten?

I remember where I was. I’ll never forget. If you were alive and beyond childhood, I’m sure you do too. Some of you may have been near one of the sites where the tragedy took place. Some of you may have known someone that was injured or killed. Aside from being an American citizen and having the future of my country changed forever, I wasn’t a victim. I won’t pretend to be. Yes, I feel pain for those that were. In the end, you won’t really care where I was because I was in a safe little suburb in northern Illinois and I knew where all of my family members were – they were all safe with me. I’m a lucky one. I won’t capitalize on someone else’s pain.

What I remember most was watching my television with horrible reception. My friend was in the states for a month or so, visiting from Australia. Her plane flew from one spot to another on September 10th, but in the confusion of that day, I couldn’t swear she wasn’t leaving on the 11th, and I couldn’t remember which airport she was flying out of. I scanned those tickers on the bottom of my television for days, until I heard from her and found out she was okay. I was very pregnant (it was 2 months to the day before my Kimberley was born) and ended up in the hospital because I had such a terrible headache. It turned out not to be my blood pressure. It was the television at home. I still went home, continued eating my entire bag of mounds bars, and waited for word. Finally, I did around the 14th. Then I stopped watching the coverage. How many times did I need to see the buildings crumble, anyway?

A lot has changed in that time. Ten years has gone by. Wars have been started. Wars have supposedly ended, except they haven’t. The president is different. The mayor of New York is different. We will never look at an airport the same way. For those that truly were victims, I’m sure in a lot of ways it seems like time has stood still.

For me, things have changed too. I have a different husband. I have two more kids, making three that have known nothing but war and two more that barely remember anything different. They don’t seem to sell mounds bars in bags anymore. I live in a different town. I have no idea where that friend I lost sleep over even is anymore.

I’m still a stranger offering a moment of silence in a living room in Illinois, but I’m just that. A stranger. I refuse to jump on the bandwagon. I wouldn’t wear a flag pin or shirt 10 years ago, and I won’t repost someone else’s tribute with stars and squiggly lines on it today.

I will never forget, but my exact location doesn’t matter. My existence has no influence on the before or after of 9/11, except in my own world. It’s nice to honor people and my fellow citizens that lost their lives or a loved one that day have my respect, but the only time I’ve ever been directly affected by 9/11 was when it was more complicated to get on a plane to go to Vegas. That hardly gives me a right to claim that I’m a victim of 9/11, on Facebook or otherwise.

Lastly, the title of this blog is referencing a popular country song from that time. In that song, he goes on to say that if it were up to him, he’d show the tragedy on the news everyday. It’s obvious to me that he was only capitalizing on a tragedy to make a buck, because if he had truly lost someone he loved, I highly doubt he’d want to watch them jumping to their death on a daily basis.

No, Mr. Worley, I haven’t forgotten. I never will. I’m sure you haven’t either. How much did you make off this song again?