I was only in 2nd grade at the time so I didn't realize exactly what happened, what 9/11 really meant, and how lucky we were. I also didn't realize how close we were time wise to 9/11. For a few years, I thought that we had gone earlier in the summer. It was our last family thing before school started up again.
I remember being up on the roof of that tower. I remember one of the top floors had a touristy map of the city on the floor and I remember bending over to touch the colors. I remember how fast the elevator took us up.
It's chilling, almost haunting. To think that even though school had started, how many kids were in the city, in the towers on that day, seeing what we saw, and having that be their last memory. How many kids lost parents, grandparents, even siblings on that day and in events that occurred in the following years.
It's haunting to think of all of those who were luckier than we were and missed being in the disaster by a few minutes, or a forgotten purse. Of all those people in the city who were the luckiest who missed the injuries but who were close enough to hear the planes and towers crashing, to see the shards or smoke, to feel the ground shake from that much material crashing to the ground.
Of the lucky ones within the disaster, who were able to take cover from the raining debris, of those who were pulled from the tower rubble alive.
But those people, I wonder how lucky they feel. they were given their lives back but at what price? how much mental trauma do they have to deal with? Could they live normal lives after physically healing?
There are times I say to myself, we are lucky, but then list off as I have done above and think, that doesn't count as being lucky since I survived the day in the comfort of my own home knowing that my family is safe.
But we were lucky. We weren't there. 2 weeks. That counts as luck.
My family is terrifyingly lucky.
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