It always amazes me how people go about their lives on this day without a thought to the thousands who died needlessly from the 9-11-2001 terrorist attacks.
I’ve always tried to make September 11 as happy a day as possible for my son, whose fourth birthday was marred by the terrorists, but it’s always in the back of my mind. It’s always lurking, scraping at my psyche – that on this day we were irrevocably changed.
I still can’t look at the images of that day and not get torn up inside. I rushed home and held my kids. I tried to call friends in New York City, who I knew worked nearby, to see if they were OK. I frantically called fellow Soldiers at the Pentagon to make sure no one was injured.
And yet, through all that panic, there was this little bright light – a little redheaded boy, who made my life complete from the moment I first held him in my arms on September 11, 1997.
I have many reasons for never forgetting this date – some of them joyous, and some of them tragic.
And I will be forever grateful for my son, who was born on this day – a day that became a symbol of fear, horror and tears for so many…
…and a day of hope for me.
Happy birthday, Redhead!