On this, the 12th anniversary of 9-11, I’ve been sitting here for quite a while trying to decide what to write. What could I possibly say that hasn’t already been said, and much more eloquently than I ever could? How could I – a humble little nothing who didn’t know any of them and was safe at home in Indiana at the time – honor those people who lost their lives? I’ve decided to honor them by telling the only 9-11 story I can tell – my story. I’ve been cautioned about telling my story. I’ve been told that it would not do honor, that’s it’s inappropriate, that it’s taboo. You see, there’s a stigma attached to my story. It seems I’m always fighting this damn stigma.
But, it’s truth. It’s my truth, no matter how messy or uncomfortable it makes others feel when they hear it. And in my mind, I’ve silently…quietly, always very quietly… honored those people on countless days since 9-11-2001. Not just on 9-11 anniversaries. On my wedding day, on the day of my son’s birth, on the day my daughter started preschool, on those Christmas mornings when I looked around at my beautiful family and thanked…God? Sometimes. But I also pay tribute to the victims of 9-11. Why? Because they saved my life.