Thirteen.  It has been Thirteen years since I woke up in my Gramma and Grampa’s to see a plane fly and crash into a building. It was as I would find out the second plane to hit those buildings. I woke up just in time to see people leaping to their fate. I was up north and all I wanted most was to hug my mom who wasn’t going to be up until later that afternoon. I knew my mom was fine, she wasn’t traveling. But I still wanted to be sure she was okay. I needed to see her in the flesh. It seems silly now, but then it was real. The anxiety was real. 

As I watched September 11th unfold you become acutely aware of life in general. You put your self in those peoples shoes.  The people watching from the streets, the people trapped, the people in the busted out windows waving frantically hoping that some one would see, to send help. Help that would never come. And finally to the fallers. To be in such a state knowing what your fate would be. Do you stay and hope you succumb to the smoke before the flames reach you. Or do you leap, knowing upon impact that you would die. You had no chance. I can honestly say I don’t know what I would do. My biggest fear is to burn. But would I be brave enough to jump? Would I be able to face the thoughts that would inevitably go through my mind d as I fall? And you would have to be just that. Brave. I can only imagine what went through everyone’s minds. That is all I can do. Imagine.

I want to explain why I am posting this a day late. I injured my back a week ago. I have been on muscle relaxes for 3 days. I slept through the anniversary.