By Sophie Lockhart
I was only 5-years-old when the Twin Towers fell. I have a very distant memory of getting off the bus after kindergarten and seeing my mom watching the news from the kitchen table. I remember her being sad.
9/11 is one of the biggest tragedies that has happened in my lifetime. One of the main reasons I took a trip to NYC in January was because I didn’t want the already vague memory of 9/11 I have to disappear. I wanted to learn more about 9/11 and remember it in my own way.
It’s a bit surreal to stand at the foot of Freedom Tower and read the thousands of names on the walls of the reflection pools. For such a busy city, this stretch of concrete is quiet and sacred.
It’s even more surreal to make the descent down the steps in the 9/11 Museum, realizing that by going downstairs, you are literally standing where the base of the towers once stood. And then to walk just a few more feet and see this beautiful blue wall, each blue swatch a slightly different shade, and each one representing a life that was taken by 9/11...I am not sure how to describe that feeling. But it’s raw.
And in the midst of the rawness, and in the midst of everything else happening in our world...I choose to remember 9/11. The 2,977 people whose lives were lost. Their loved ones who still grieve. The first responders who risked their lives. The people who came from all over the world to help the USA when we needed it most. The New Yorkers who love their city and look back on this day in despair. And the kindergarteners like me who were just trying to understand.
“No day shall erase you from the memory of time.” -Virgil