Today is the 9th anniversary of 9/11. The day when the towers fell. The day when innocent women and men, of all nationalities, had their lives cut short by a few extremists. The day we witnessed the best and worst of human nature itself - the blatant disregard for human life by those attackers, and the self-sacrifice by those in public service (and by those who just happened to be there).
I will never forget.
I was at home - a rental house I lived in off Duncan Street in Fayetteville, Arkansas. My roommate had already left for work, I was getting ready for class. My boyfriend (now my awesome husband) was also at work.
I had the television on, my cat and my roommate's cat were chasing each other around the house.
I was about to walk out the door when the news reported the first plane had hit the first tower. I honestly thought it was some sort of movie at first - it's what caught my eye, since I was watching the news and I was trying to figure out how the channel had changed.
I sat and watched in horror - I saw the second plane hit. I saw the towers fall. I listened as the reporters gave what information they had. I missed my classes.
I cried. I prayed.
I refuse to think about the terrorists. They don't deserve my thoughts or my anger. What I do think about are the heroes who stepped up that day. The innocent people that died, and the families they left behind.
I like to think that they are in a better place, looking down on us.
Today, I remember.
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