Five Years Ago

I can't tell you how scared I was on September 11th. I can't express the dread with which I looked to the skies. I don't even know how much I cried that day, and for days afterward.

But I can tell you that the next day, when phone lines were back up, I called my dad. We weren't able to make sense of any of it, but we were there for each other. And I'd go through all those horrible feelings again to have one more phone call with him.

I remember visting him in the hospital soon afterward. We watched the footage on one news show or another -- they were still running 24 hours then. Most of all, I was glad he was there for me when the world broke apart, but sorry that he ever saw things come to this.

I can't say I'm happy I saw it, either. But we get through, day after day, and we bear the public and private hurts the only way we can...by moving forward. By living. By learning. By not forgetting, but by remembering with a little more distance every time.

It's been five years since September 11, and almost that long since my father died. Where will I be in ten years? Where will you?

Pick a destination and start walking. I'll meet you there.

Rob