It’s not what I remember, but that I do.
By Rebecca K. Abma
An American flag draped across a NYC street on the 12th anniversary of 9/11. Courtesy of Tanya Dennis.
Guest Post by Tanya Dennis
Today is the first time in twelve years that my husband has gone to work on September 11th. No. It’s the first time in thirteen years. He never made it into the city on the day of the attacks. He tried. He couldn’t get in.
When I shared this with my mom, she asked if I was scared. I’m not. I’m not even nervous. I’m just sad. Tremendously, immeasurably sad.
I don’t want to talk about what I remember of that day. Everyone has their story — where they were, what they were doing, how they reacted. In truth, my story isn’t very exciting, but it is mine and it’s personal and still, more than a decade later, feels raw and cruel.
On this very somber anniversary, I don’t want the focus to be on what I remember, but that I do. I do remember.
I remember that this world is harsh … for everyone. And I remember that GOD IS BIGGER. I remember that He is always good and that He will prevail and that in the midst of terribly painful times, we can still trust Him.