Today is a bittersweet day for me. For you see it is 9/11, a day forever emblazoned in our memories eight years ago. It is also the day my first grandchild was born 12 years ago.
Sam and I were eating supper when we got the call that Max was coming into the world. We dropped everything and headed to the hospital to await his arrival. It was a small birthing room, so we waited in the (what else?) waiting room. We were periodically updated on everything, including Andrew's near-fainting spells. It, along with the birth of our Granddaughter Addie are among the best days of my life. We met when he was only 5 minutes old and have been fast friends ever since.
I am sure we all remember where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day 8 years ago. The images on our television are still etched in my mind as I watched in horror when the second plane sliced through the South Tower. My mind immediately raced to my Grandchildren and my Son, Andy who was working at a federal installation at the time. Notice the order of concern. If you are a grandparent you totally understand.
For days we watched the terror unfold, as we heard horrific stories of loss. The nation was in shock from being attacked on our home soil. But I am telling you nothing, because we all went through it. The heroes are those who lost their lives by merely going about their daily routines, and those they left behind who must carry on.
So today I will celebrate the life that came into the world 12 years ago, and remember the day that brought us together as a nation 8 years ago.
May the Lord wrap his loving arms around those lost on 9/11 and be with the ones that are left behind. Amen.
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