I don't know what other words I can add to describe a day like this, a day where events eight years ago cause all of us to stop and take a couple of seconds to recall where we were on that day, as well as be grateful for the things, liberties, loves, passions, and blessings we have today.
My wife was in New York City on this day in 2001. My sister was there as well, and close enough to the point of impact that she eventually had to be relocated from her apartment. Those crazy moments when I was desperately trying to reach both, while phone lines were jammed, cell phone towers were toppled, and visions of chaos and confusion were piped over every television screen with a deafening silence, as newscasters tried to make sense of it all. I can still remember how scared I was for both my wife and sister, how scared I was for me, how scared I was for all of us.
I still get those chills when I come across gripping and well-written articles like Tom Junod's "The Falling Man". Or when I read fine posts like what Jon Weisman wrote in 2006, even when it's juxtaposed with his happier post describing events on this day in 1983.
It's a weird feeling balancing sadness and gratefulness, wanting to be contemplative and introspective and respectful, yet anxious and pent-up enough to want to take advantage of the time we have, and feel and show appreciation for the benefits (material and immaterial) that we are lucky enough to have.
It's weird assuring oneself, on a day with such serious and deep loss, that it is okay to watch a game as trivial and ridiculous as baseball. But watch I will, tonight. Maybe a little bit quieter, or more solemn. But I will watch, and even cheer a bit.
I know the Dodgers aren't playing a home game tonight. But for what it's worth, this is one of the few nights where I'd be perfectly fine with the God Bless America seventh-inning interlude.
Have a happy and safe 9/11.