I remember exactly where I was on September 11, 2001. Like so many, I watched in disbelief as the world shifted before my eyes. The images of towers falling, of people running, of lives ending in a single moment, are etched into my memory. There was grief, confusion, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness—but also courage, resilience, and the quiet heroism of ordinary people stepping into unimaginable circumstances.
Today, we pause to remember. To honor the thousands who lost their lives, the families forever changed, and the countless acts of bravery that will never be forgotten. We light candles, observe moments of silence, and speak their names aloud. We remember that grief can be both public and private, both collective and personal.
Because for me, 9/11 is not just a day in history. It is also a mirror to my own life—a reflection of what it feels like to live through a personal, ongoing tragedy. A year and a half ago, my own world shifted when Tim collapsed. In that moment, everything I thought I knew about life, stability, and safety was stripped away. My heart fractured, my mind raced, and I was plunged into a darkness I had never known. Every day since has been like living through my own personal 9/11: a mix of fear, sorrow, helplessness, and the slow, painstaking process of finding a way forward.
Each morning, I wake up and hold my breath for just a moment, grateful that he is still here, yet painfully aware that life is fragile, unpredictable, and often unfair. Every seizure, every setback, every challenge reminds me that tragedy doesn’t always come in headlines or news reports—it can arrive quietly, in our own homes, in our own bodies, in the ones we love most.
Yet, just as the nation found courage in the midst of terror, I have found grace in the midst of my personal heartbreak. I have learned that even when the world feels unsafe, when the horizon seems dark, there is hope. There is the quiet presence of God who meets me in the middle of my fear. There is love, steadfast and enduring, in the heart of someone who is still fighting to breathe, to laugh, to live. There is faith that even the darkest day is not the end of the story.
On 9/11, we remember the heroes—the firefighters, police officers, and ordinary people who gave everything to help others. In my own life, Tim is a hero every day, not because he sought glory, but because he endures. And I have learned that being present, loving, and faithful in the midst of struggle is its own kind of heroism. My days are full of small acts of courage: holding his hand through seizures, staying calm when fear threatens to overwhelm me, finding joy in moments that are often fleeting. These acts may not make headlines, but they are sacred, and they are life-giving.
Grief, I have realized, is not a single moment. It is not contained to one day, one year, or one disaster. It lives and breathes in the spaces between ordinary moments. And yet, grief also opens the door to love, resilience, and the awareness of what is truly important. 9/11 reminds us that life is precious, fragile, and finite. Living with Tim’s health challenges teaches the same lesson: each heartbeat, each smile, each shared breath is a gift we cannot take for granted.
As we light candles today and remember, I also pray for those walking their private battles, their personal tragedies that never make the news. I pray for families like mine, navigating the unknown, carrying burdens that seem too heavy for one person to bear. And I give thanks for the courage, the perseverance, and the unyielding hope that can emerge even in the darkest days.
We can honor 9/11 not just by remembering what was lost, but by recognizing the life and love that persists in the aftermath of tragedy. By holding those we love closer, by cherishing the ordinary moments, by choosing faith and hope even when despair whispers, we continue the legacy of courage and compassion that defines both a nation and a life lived fully.
So today, I remember. I grieve. I pray. And I hold Tim’s hand a little tighter, laugh a little louder, and love a little deeper. Because some 9/11s are public. Some are private. And both teach us the same truth: life is fragile, love is eternal, and hope is never lost.
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