This is the third time the author has written about 9/11. On the 13th anniversary, she considers how her life and ours have changed since that fateful day.
In 2001, I lived in New Jersey. I was married with two children who were not yet on their own, one in middle school and one at Rutgers University. My only sibling, a brother seven years younger than I, lived not too far from me in Staten Island. He worked in New York as a loss prevention manager at Macy's. Every work morning, he took the subway that traveled under the Twin Towers. Our parents remained in New Orleans, where we grew up. And then there was that day we all remember: Tuesday, September 11.
On that epic morning, world history seemed to pause, freezing America in a nightmarish moment, taking a snapshot of us devastated. We had never seen such a terrifying spectacle—huge jets crashing into buildings, our own people bruised, burned, bleeding, throwing their bodies like bombs from a tower, and the collapse of two magnificent skyscrapers. We had never seen our most . . . Please continue reading at the article's primary site.