Remember, Remember...

I was in biology class in my freshman year of high school. I had had less than 2 weeks to adjust to the new, hectic, tiring life New World demands from it's students, and had I been in any other class but (evil) Dr. Tucker's, I probably would have been very awake. Then the class phone rang. Per usual when the teacher takes her eyes off the class, we all talked amongst ourselves, some boy threw something, and then she hung up and told us:

"A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center."

We tentatively looked around. In our last few minutes of innocence of what really happened, we of course figured it was an accident. A malfunction. A horrible, horrible mistake.
By the time class was over and we had made our way back to the central building (science classes were located further away on campus) the second plane had struck and the Pentagon was in flames. This was the point when cell phones stopped working and parents started showing up (mine included) to whisk their kids away from a building located right in the thick of Miami's downtown legal and financial district. We had heard that there was one more plane out of control, and although some may find it silly, at the time it seemed very plausible that Miami could also be attacked, what with the other 2 main east coast cities being targeted.
Thankfully, Miami was fine.

New York, as we all well know, was not.

I have a dim memory of a visit to the World Trade Center... When it was still standing. I was 10, and it basically consists of me looking out over Manhattan through huge beautiful glass windows. It was the highest point I had ever been while not in an airplane in my little life.
And although I didn't know why, I felt an urge, and longing to be down in the city. I've always felt that. NYC is now my home. And with the pain and connection I feel now because of something that happened 10 years ago, I can't imagine what it must have been (and to this day continues to be) like for the people living here during the attacks.

I don't mean to get all sentimental, but it's moments like these that make NYC the amazing city it is. Remembering the rebuilding of a community, or celebrating equal love with a parade. Moments where we can all come together and be proud to be New Yorkers.

I'm not usually one for praying, but I found out yesterday that my grandfather is in the hospital, suffering from walking pneumonia and a possible stroke among other things. He is a crazy, loving, larger than life man and I am blessed to have him in my life... and share his birthday.
I'm taking the train to Saratoga to see him today, and although usually nothing would make me leave my city on a day like this... My family is everything to me.

So, today, I pray. I pray for my grandfather. I pray for the survivors of 9/11. I pray for the families of loved ones lost. I pray for the health of the brave men and women who helped save countless lives and pick the city up out of the rubble.

But I do not pray for NYC. I don't need to. We take care of our own.

No one can ever change that.