I almost cannot watch any more of the 9/11 remembrance coverage. Like everyone else, I will never, ever, ever forget that day. I will never forget standing in front of the tv for so long, because I could not find it in myself to sit. I will not forget clasping my hands over my mouth, gaping in horror, as I watched the first tower collapse. Words did not need to be spoken. My mom and I sat in silence with the horrible sinking realization that we had just watched thousands of people die. I will never forget the flags that blanketed our country in the weeks to follow.
And I will not forget that life continues. Love continues.
Just a few days later, September 16, 2001, I noticed Marc out of the corner of my eye in the foyer of our church. I whispered to a friend, "Oh my gosh! I had the hugest crush on that guy in high school. I doubt he remembers me." I was wrong. He remembered.
Marc and I connected on such a deep level so instantly. We had the same dreams. Dreams of making a difference. Dreams of changing the world.
A week later, the two of us knelt on the ground together at a hard core rock concert, along with a bunch of other people you'd never expect to see kneeling and crying. Marc had invited me to see this band we loved at the time, Stavesacre, and they decided to do a tribute song. Gold and Silver. And everyone kneeled with them. And everyone cried.