It is one of those types of days, much like the birth of a child or the death of a loved one, that you will forever remember where you were and what you were doing right at the instant you became aware.
I don’t have many of those types of days, but September 11 is one of them.
Many of my friends posted on Facebook about September 11. They posted what they were doing that day and how it impacted them through the rest of their day. They posted thanks to those who went above and beyond, and prayers for those who never made it out and those who were left behind in the wake of the loss.
Many of my friends changed their Facebook backgrounds and profiles to reflect, if only for the day, that the significance of the moment in time is not forgotten, even 11 years later.
As I popped in and out of Facebook all day, which I have a tendency to do when I get bored, I noticed a marked reduction in the number of inane postings that I normally see during the course of a day. It was like people, in their own way, were preserving the memory, maybe even sanctifying the event, with a collective Internet silence. The usual chatter was hushed; the images were shadowed.
The self-centered aura of the Facebook world turned outward, so to speak, to address and acknowledge that collective memory, the shared pain and fear, the momentary hopelessness combined with the rush of pride in the heroics that were evidenced that day, that week, the rest of that year.
Images of the day brought back the emotion in vivid reality.
One of my friends pointed out how painfully long a minute of silence is.
Another friend posted a link to an Alan Jackson video on YouTube that drew a vivid picture of what we should be thinking and feeling today.
At times, it feels like we, as a nation, have lost hold of the solidarity that was thrust upon us that day. We have lost sight, again, of the importance of human relationships and of the bond we as Americans share…or should share.
There are plenty of over used phrases 11 years later that are meant to capture the emotion and psyche of that moment. I won’t bore you by dredging any of them up.
Today, if even for a moment, I hope that every American can be transported back to the reality of that day, a day when “the world stopped turning”, and allow themselves to touch not only the pain and fear of that moment, but the hope and promise that briefly arose and flourished as a result of it.
If you can get there, hold on tight and don’t let go, because we need that now like never before.
© 2010-2012 Kimberly Bluth or Kimberly Yoss. All rights reserved. No part of this online publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior approval from Kimberly Yoss (Bluth).