My ten year old self was on the school bus home. My usual bus-mate Sophie had got picked up that afternoon instead, so I was bored, staring out of the window at the passing countryside. I was tuning out much of the noise of the other kids, and trying to tune my poor hearing into the radio instead.
I caught snatches of what was happening. The tone of the newsreaders caught my attention and held it, as I strained harder to hear. I didn't fully understand; words like 'terrorist' flew by me, but 'attack' and 'planes' informed me sufficiently that something bad was happening.
When I stepped off the bus, amid the other chattering, oblivious children, my Mum's tense face as she grabbed my little sister and took my hand confirmed my subconscious assumption. Once we were bundled into the car, she had the radio turned right up, which was unusual because my Mum doesn't like driving with the radio on generally. Hearing the news properly for the first time, I was confused. My young brain understood that something was desperately wrong, but the full idea of what the terrorists had actually done had not even entered the deep recesses of my darkest nightmares.
I grew up that day.
Watching the news at home, watching the burning towers, watching them tumble in the blink of an eye - that was when it finally registered in my numb brain the horrors of what humans can achieve.
I was a naive child, I fully accept that. I didn't watch the news, thinking it was something only for grown-ups. I was content with my Disney films and happy cartoons. I had stood at the top of those towers mere months before, in the weak May sunshine, feeling on top of the world. Our hotel had been right at the base of the Trade Centre, and would surely have been destroyed.
My perception of the world was altered then, forever, as I sat with my mother, who was crying. I'd never seen her cry before.
My heart sank today, when I realised that the majority of my memories - of my life really, for I hold little claim to the actions I have no memory of - have occured during a time of war. I can hardly remember a time before - before news of suicide bombings, of air raids, of more lives lost. We become desensitized to this news. Horrifyingly ironic, as the family of those who have died would surely wish to be desensitized to the gnawing pain of knowing that their loved one will never return.
Nearly 3000 people died in one day. And surely millions have died in repercussions over the past ten years, either directly from warfare or the after-effects of the attacks. Thousands are suffering the health effects of the destroyed towers, of the asbestos and dust and destruction. Thousands of lives have been altered, irreparably.
We will never forget. And rightly so. The bravey and courage of so many people, in the face of such tragedy, should never be forgotten. xo.
