For my parents’ generation, it was Pearl Harbor. It’s a lifetime ago, but every December 7th, they remember. For my generation, it was the Kennedy assassination. I was a small child on the school playground when the news reached us, and yes, everything changed. For many, the moment was 9/11.

We are so sheltered, so secure, that these events are unimaginable — at least until the moment they happen. We are so fortunate.

Today, I choose to think of our good fortune. We are unimaginably blessed to live in a time and place where such events are rare and shattering horrors instead of everyday perils. I am so grateful to be here.

My children remember. They were only 4 and 6 at the time but they remember. I want them to remember. But I want to celebrate the miracles – new life, missed flights, delayed travel – that kept this day from being even more painful that it was.

Does that make sense?

G’night

С уважением Сеньчик

Now, six years later, those children who share my last name are laying on the floor right now sleeping where they dropped after a long day of school. We celebrated our adoption anniversary on September 9th after five years as a legal family, even though we have been a family in our hearts since their beginnings. This year is the first time they have questioned what everyone was talking about when they mention 9/11 and all the sadness. I told them what happened, and what we were doing. They wanted to know why they did this to us. I told them that even though they claimed to have their reasons, there is no good answer for why anyone would devistate an entire nation of people.

Very bad things happen. But so do very good things. And if we don’t remember the bad, we won’t know how to measure the good. Thank you for telling us what it was like for you.

Suddenly, Matt Lauer broke in with the news of the plane hitting, saying it was probably just a small plane whose pilot had gotten lost. I called my friend and left a message on his machine that said, jokingly, “I don’t know if I want to come to New York now, since the pilots don’t know how to steer.”

As I was leaving that message, the second plane hit, and I said, over and over, “I’m so sorry.” His son worked for a company which had offices in the WTC, and his son, an intern, could have been in the building at the time.

Thankfully, the friend and his son were safe from harm, and I didn’t know anyone who died or was injured that day. I still took it very, very personally.

I had to cancel my trip and still haven’t made it back to NYC. My heart is there, and I ache to return.

I also had to go in to work, sick as I was. I was a writer at a newspaper. Usually, I wasn’t in much demand, being a religion writer, but that day, I had my chance to shine. I called the local Ministerial Alliance and organized a Day of Prayer on our courthouse steps. I took phone call after phone call from people who just needed to reach out to someone in that very sad time.

The thing I remember most is the fear. We as individuals had no idea what might happen next. People were getting plastic sheeting and duct tape and bottled water. They were preparing for some sort of Armageddon. No one knew what to expect, and that was an alien situation for Americans to be in. I didn’t sleep for about two weeks after the attacks, and I know I’m not alone.

I think we would all do well to remember that aspect of it, so that we can ensure it doesn’t happen again. Much of our emotion over what happened has cooled, and many people have begun sniping at one another over whether it was a conspiracy by the President and others, whether workers were compensated for the clean-up, etc. It has become a logistical issue instead of an emotional one. I’d rather leave the logistics to others. I am holding fast to my emotions.