You know that cold unreal feeling you get, the sense of blood slowing down in your veins, while invisible needles prickle your skin.  It HAD to be an accident, didn’t it?  But how does a highly trained airline pilot fail to miss an entire building, one of the tallest in the world?

And then it happened again.

I stayed on the phone that day, an appliance I generally despise, with Ted and with my mother, now 1000 miles away…on a day when you really need a hug from your mom.  We watched the coverage expand to include the Pentagon, and finally a field in Pennsylvania.  

To this day I cannot read or watch anything to do with that last flight.  The selflessness of the passengers, knowing they were never getting out of that situation alive.  I still cannot make myself go through that again, though I would someday like to visit that field.

I likewise cannot look at the images, the people choosing a falling death over a burning one, the cops, the firefighters, the regular everyday citizens who all stood up and did whatever needed doing for the living and the dead.  The pain is still there, like a poorly healed wound.  Pick at it and it begins to bleed again.

So, yeah, I’m still angry.  We were blooded, hard, and we blooded back.  Which is the only thing the people who did the blooding would understand.  They’re not interested in diplomacy, trade agreements, anything that would better the lives of their people…they just want more blood.  They still get it, in dribs and drabs, from our military on the ground in their countries, but they pay and pay hard for the privelege, and eventually, they will run out of coin.  

So, remember what they did, and remember the fallen.

Others:

• Remembering Not to Forget 9/11