I just wanted to take a minute to commemorate one of the most tragic days of my young life, so far. People older than I talk about remembering where they were when President Kennedy was shot and when Elvis died. For the longest time I thought that was strange, but now I understand exactly where they’re comin’ from.
I’m not a big TV watcher, so when I turned on the tube the morning of 9/11 I was shocked beyond measure to see every station was flooded with live coverage of the Twin Towers. We’d just moved to Kentucky and I was still in the process of unpacking boxes. I wanted some background noise to help the time pass more quickly, but what I got was something that shocked me to the core.
I found myself glued to the TV, barely able to turn away from the ongoing destruction and death. I remember feeling utterly helpless as I watched people jump from the Towers to avoid the flames. Ultimately plunging to their deaths – some jumping from 20 stories high. I remember my heart breaking that day.
Every person that died that day is a hero – as is every man and woman who’ve put on the uniform and died defending this great nation we live in.