Let's Roll

 My eldest son will be nine years old next week. This morning, as he and his little brother prepared for school, I closed my bathroom door, sat on my bath tub ledge and I cried at my memories of 9/11. I cried the kind of tears that show on your face even after they're gone - the kind of tears that worry the people who love you when they see your pained face.
When I emerged - my son stood quietly on his side of the door waiting for an explanation and I was forced to tell him and his little brother what today means.

Again, tears rolled down my face as I tried to explain what it meant to be attacked like that, on an idle Tuesday with bright skies. I tried to explain the messages of love we received from those fallen. I tried to tell them of the heroism of the fire and rescue workers. I tried to reassure them with Osama Bin Laden's death. I tried to explain that my tears were my heart's way of honoring those lost.
They tried to understand.
Now, breakfast is consumed. Shoes are tied. They play in the driveway with laughter as they wait for their bus. They live in a world where Osama Bin Laden is dead. They live in a world that has proven that we can survive 9/11. They live in a world where the heroism and strength of that horrific day, and their mother's tears, are all that remain of tragedy.
My sons cannot fathom the terror. They cannot dream the loss.
We all remember the moment that we learned the value of each other. We all remember life in two segments. Before 9/11 and After. We all carry a scar within us for the loss of that day... except those born since. For them, there is only After 9/11. For them there isn't any fear in a low flying Jet. For them, America exists much as it did for you and I on September 10th 2001. This is a sign that we are moving forward. Forward though it aches. Forward.
That day, a hero uttered the words, "Let's Roll."
I have done my best in every moment since to follow that creed of moving forward with bravery and sacrifice for my fellow man. I believe that the bright eyes of my sons are a sign that I... that We are healing. We will survive, though we won't ever forget.