How is it possible...

...that 10 years has passed?

You keep hearing that time heals everything. That you slowly will forget the sounds, the feelings dull a bit, that the moment fades and all you are left with are memories that are softer, not as crisp. You forget the smell of the air. You forget the rush and pulse of the heart beat, the feeling of light-headiness, and the sound of screams as people push their way to escape.

It all reads like a well-organized horror story.

I have blogged about this before in passed passages. One would think that it gets easier, yet it really doesn't. The day approaches and you know that the feelings will resurface, the the television is going to replay the events over and over. That CBS will play the live footage inside the buildings during their documentary 9/11. How difficult it still is to watch for me.

I have found that my friends who lived through this together with me are dealing with the same things. I have reconnected with so many of my friends from The Actor's Studio School of Drama over the years, but this year, it seemed harder to bear, more emotional. I found blog entries telling in vivid detail what they went through. I found that ten years had not softened the horror of the day. I found that my friends were all going through the same emotions, some even stating that they would be turning off the television over the weekend as it is too much. I would agree with this statement, yet I did not somehow do this. I instead turned on NBC and watched the dedications of all three memorials, seeing the pain on the families faces as they scribble the pencil over the paper, showcasing the name of their loved one. I could never ever EVER imagine the level of pain they deal with every day. Does it soften for them? Does the pain dull for them? I cannot even compare what I go through to anything they experienced.

I found it extremely difficult to stop the tears all day long. Just was completely teary. In church, asking God to help the pain pass and heal my heart. Talking with my mom, someone whose voice I was so thankful to hear on the other end, trying to get through to her once the second building fell. I remember the struggle we all had getting in contact with all of our loved ones. We had to cram into tiny school offices helping each other get through the minimal phone lines to our loved ones.

I had to leave the room when the documentary came on. I have not been able to watch it since the five year anniversary. I forced myself to watch it back then. And experienced the pain of seeing the faces of firemen who I know lost their lives. Seeing the rubble. Hearing the breaking of glass. Hearing the dull thuds as people took their lives into their own hands.

I found it difficult to explain to my students today who were first and second graders when the planes hit. I struggled through the retelling of the story of that day and the days that followed.

I tear up today. I tear up for the faces of children who have forgotten their parents faces and voices. I tear up for the children who read the names and add their personal goodbyes. I tear up for the firemen and policemen who deal with the loss of their brothers and sisters, all in the face of terror and becoming heroes. I tear up that we are no longer innocent bystanders in the world arena. I tear up at the site of "Reflecting Absence" knowing that those are the sites that so many lost their lives and cannot think of a more fitting memorial.