Remembering 9/11: Happy Birthday, My Son

Remembering 9/11: Happy Birthday, My Son

“Mommy, how come we can’t go get pizza for my birthday? And where’s daddy?”

I took the tiny form of my now-4 year-old son in my lap and stroked his soft hair. “I’m sorry, buddy. I know you’re disappointed, but daddy has to work tonight.”

“But how come? I wanted pizza!”

“I know you did, big man. But something really bad happened today, and daddy is a police officer, so he has to work.”

How do you explain to a little boy that the celebration you planned for his fourth birthday had to be postponed because savages flew planes into buildings, killing thousands of people? How do you explain to an innocent little boy that such evil exists in the world, and highlight it on his big day? How do you take him in your arms and explain that what was to be a celebration of his life was overshadowed by acts of unspeakable horror?

Fire.

Explosions.

Men and women jumping to their deaths from skyscrapers.

Untold courage on a doomed aircraft.

Indescribable heroism and acts of self sacrifice.

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