Further proof that time is irrelevant, twelve years seems like forever ago.
Exactly twelve years ago today my daughter was but a couple of weeks old and on her way to the first funeral she would ever experience in life. Of course she has no recollection of the services she attended, for whom they were held for, nor of the frightening events taking place and how they unfolded on that mild, waning summer day.
An infant child is a fitting symbol for any funeral, an uplifting reminder that we should celebrate life's gift rather than mourn loss. Unfortunately, that particular day was anything but the celebration of life that it should have been. On that morning, a small piece of everyone was stolen along with a portion of our implied freedoms.
The sum of the world's evils fell out of the sky and yet she was entirely unaware of it, and I thank God for that. A mere babe in arms, the embodiment of innocence, she symbolized our hope and was never held onto so tightly.
We all needed something to cling to that day.
Today marks twelve years passed. My daughter will go to school, sit in a classroom full of students that were born in 2001, and they will all learn about the events that they can not recall, but always feel somehow connected to. These students will be given facts. These students will be told about sacrifice. These students will learn of government, military and social reaction. These students will be shown footage depicting clouds of dust and fear.
And when I see my daughter tonight, there is little doubt that we will discuss the events that took place twelve years ago. No longer a babe in arms, she is now a bright young lady and a constant reminder of the perspective she gave me on the day she turned fifteen days old.
There is no denying that dark days lie ahead, but when hope is a scarcely found commodity, she needs only to look within herself.
Today's Jazz Hands Remember.
Exactly twelve years ago today my daughter was but a couple of weeks old and on her way to the first funeral she would ever experience in life. Of course she has no recollection of the services she attended, for whom they were held for, nor of the frightening events taking place and how they unfolded on that mild, waning summer day.
An infant child is a fitting symbol for any funeral, an uplifting reminder that we should celebrate life's gift rather than mourn loss. Unfortunately, that particular day was anything but the celebration of life that it should have been. On that morning, a small piece of everyone was stolen along with a portion of our implied freedoms.
The sum of the world's evils fell out of the sky and yet she was entirely unaware of it, and I thank God for that. A mere babe in arms, the embodiment of innocence, she symbolized our hope and was never held onto so tightly.
We all needed something to cling to that day.
Today marks twelve years passed. My daughter will go to school, sit in a classroom full of students that were born in 2001, and they will all learn about the events that they can not recall, but always feel somehow connected to. These students will be given facts. These students will be told about sacrifice. These students will learn of government, military and social reaction. These students will be shown footage depicting clouds of dust and fear.
And when I see my daughter tonight, there is little doubt that we will discuss the events that took place twelve years ago. No longer a babe in arms, she is now a bright young lady and a constant reminder of the perspective she gave me on the day she turned fifteen days old.
There is no denying that dark days lie ahead, but when hope is a scarcely found commodity, she needs only to look within herself.
Today's Jazz Hands Remember.
Day two-hundred and fifty-four complete.
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