3-year-old Alana Milawski on her father’s shoulders during candlelight vigil Sept. 12, 2001. Photo credit: Ethan Miller/Las Vegas Sun
I do not yet have the distance of history to mercifully blur the memory. I remember the crystal clear blue sky on the morning of 9-11 when the Earth became soaked with tears and night fell on a different world.
I can never forget the images of fire and ashes and bent steel or the sounds of our national anthem playing at Buckingham Palace and the sorrow written on the faces of our closest allies in the middle hour of our grief.
The anniversary ceremony at the 9/11 Memorial Plaza at the World Trade Center will once again include a reading of the names of those who perished; the names which became a poem and then a prayer. We will linger over the names and we will weep. Our wounds have not yet healed for we remember the eloquent acts of sacrifice and the grief of strangers.
The thing I regret most on this 14th anniversary is the absence of American flags on front porches; a show of defiance against the terrorists and a soothing symbol of security for a wounded nation and the brightest beacon for freedom.
UPDATE: It is with deepest gratitude and a grateful heart that I express my thanks to Diogenes’ Middle Finger for linking to this post.