9-11 We Will Never Forget

I would be remiss not to write a little on the five year anniversary of those fateful terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. If you noticed, in the post previous to this...which I also posted today, I didn't mention anything about the attacks. There's a reason for that. I'm not saying we shouldn't remember and reflect on the day that changed America forever. For me, there's a reason that I want to try to put the day aside and not keep bringing it up. It puts a damper on my birthday every year. Maybe you think that's selfish of me, and maybe it is, but the entire week is generally dedicated to 9-11. I have always looked forward to my birthday...it's my Christmas. And ever since my senior year in high school...that changed. Don't think that I don't reflect on what happened five years ago. Today I had the privilege of going to a couple 9-11 related events...and they were moving to say the least. But bottom line is...I do remember what happened...and I still remember those who lost their lives fighting for our freedom. Now I will post the poem that I wrote 5 years ago about the terrorist attacks. It was published in a few local publications...and is my best poem to date...so sit back, read and reflect on what 9-11 means to you and all Americans!!

Who Am I Kimberly Dunne I am no one special. I’m the little boy that gives up his favorite teddy bear so that a stranger might be comforted. I’m the single mother who has been trying to teach her child to sleep in their own bed, who holds them tight long into the night, thanking God it wasn’t her child that died. I’m the old man, angry and resentful that his military doesn’t want him because of his age. I’m the teenage girl that spends hours cutting ribbons for others to wear as a symbol of remembrance. I’m the young man who doesn’t understand why his father was running up the stairs as the building fell, trying to save just one more person, instead of saving himself. I’m the old woman who will never see her grandchild again. I’m the little girl, playing with her doll, who can’t understand when someone screams hateful things at her because of where her family is from. I’m the police officer, trying to keep idiotic reporters safe, when his wife is still among the missing. I’m the fire fighter that called in sick that day, only to discover that someone else died in his place. I’m the man who survived the falling building only to learn that his sister and baby niece were in the plane. I’m the secretary, angered by the seemingly callous response of those around her. I’m a spelunker, who is climbing down into the remains of a building, hoping to find someone still alive. I’m the dog handler, searching for bodies, that has to comfort my animal when only death remains. I’m the woman who stands in line for five hours in order to give blood, hoping to help strangers in need. I’m the man who gets up and goes to work every day, in spite of the tragedy, because he still has a family to feed. I’m the first passenger to get back on a plane, even though I’m terrified, because I know somebody has to be first. Who am I? I’m nobody special. I’m just an American.