The day came and went. Nothing special occurred. No ceremony to attend. No memorial. It just passed. Like any other day. In fact, if I would not have heard something on the radio, something brief and fleeting, I might never have realized the day had so quietly come and gone.
I suppose if I was aware of the date, it would have rang a bell. 9/11. I would have then thought, "Yes, it is 9/11. That day." But in Kimber-like fashion, I did not know the date. So I could not comment to myself about it being "that day."
I struggle to understand what that day means to me. Certainly it is a tragic day. I can cry at a drop of a hat if I hear the letters people have written to their deceased loved one. Or see a child profiled, one who lost a parent in the attack. Quite honostly, though, I am affected the same way for any tragedy. Katrina, Darfur, Tsunami, Israel.
Should I feel more compelled to memorialize this tragedy than another because it happened here rather than somewhere else? If I don't annually recognize, purposefully, other tragedies that affect me then is it necessary to do so with this one? I don't know the answer. I just know that I felt a twinge of guilt for not having done something. Light a candle. Open a discussion with the children. Remember those who died.