I remember September 11th 2001, I was eight, two weeks away from being nine.  I remember wandering into the living room, the t.v. was on, the same images on every single channel.  I didn’t understand the full gravity of the situation, but I knew that things had changed.  I remember standing in my front yard talking to my neighbor, about war.  I, trying to be optimistic, her, going the other way.  Neither of us entirely right in our youthful views.  I remember a sense of unity, of seeing prayer in places it hadn’t appeared before.  I remember increased security measures and new fears.

One day I’ll be able to say, that I remember the night Osama Bin Laden was announced dead.  That I remember laying on my parent’s bed studying for a quiz while waiting for the president to speak.  I’ll remember how I felt; freshly emotional as I was reminded of the events of nearly ten years before, reminded that in the end justice wins, and the wicked perish.  I’ll remember wanting to listen to the president for one of the first times, the brevity of what he had to say, and being old enough to truly understand what was going on.  Mostly I’ll remember the feeling of releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the way people once again, at least for a moment came together, and the  knowledge that this was another example of history in the making.  Both my history, and that of my country.

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