For the record, I'm well aware of what day it is today. In addition to the horrors that the entire world shared, I have my own story about today. Today was the day that Baroy (as I'll be calling my DH here) and E were standing at Kennedy airport, waiting to come home to N and I after a quick visit back east. E had just, just turned 4 years old. They didn't leave New York until four days later, on the very first flight out of Kennedy after the attacks. A newspaper reporter was on the plane with them, and quoted Baroy and told a story about the way they had to close-search E in the newspaper article she subsequently wrote. Today was the day a man I used to work with died in the WTC. Today was the day another man, whose sister is on a mailing list with me, also died there. Today was the day my brother-in-law, an NYPD officer based downtown, began a long, long stint at the morgue in NYC, one that changed him profoundly. And there's more and more and more.

I'm well aware of what day it is today. I just don't feel the need to commemorate it, to talk about it. And I definitely don't feel the need to watch hours upon hours of television coverage about it. Someday, maybe. Maybe I'll need to do something to feel a connection to that day. But now, no. Now I feel a connection to that day every day, in ways I haven't even begun to explore. Now I don't need any help to feel the horror and the terror and the pain. Now I just need to let it sit for a while.