Sometimes, I hope it does.
The rest of the time, I hope it never changes.
I drove around today, and the flags flying at half-mast yanked hard at my heart.
My children know nothing of this day's significance. They do not know what flags flying at half-mast mean. They don't know of a world that predates Homeland Security. They were born into a country forever changed by the events 13 years ago.
Hubby and I watched a Nova special on Netflix earlier this week, about the construction of the new One World Trade Center building, the 9/11 Memorial museum, and the actual Memorial itself. Fascinating stuff (available on Netflix), and I highly recommend watching it.
Some day, my children will see these places. In hushed tones, we will explain what happened in Somerset (not too far from us, actually), at the Pentagon, in New York City. We will tell the stories. We will trace the names engraved. We will tell of those who went in when everyone else walked out. We will say that heroes didn't just come on two feet; on this day, there were four-footed heroes as well. We will carefully discuss why evil men chose to take such horrible actions, how they hoped to wound our country so deeply that we would fall, how they did not succeed. We will counter that with the truth of the American spirit, how we banded together, how we fought back by fighting for survivors. We will speak of a love for fellow men so great that others gave their lives, willingly.
We will not forget.
We will teach them to not forget, even though this day doesn't have the same emotional impact for them that it does for us.
We will remember. We will honor the fallen. We will pray for those who still grieve.
We will remember.