September 2001, the Twin Towers fell 3,000 miles away.
My Dad, also 3,000 miles away, told me and my brothers that he had cancer.
And that it was terminal.
Two months later, I quit my job.
There was so much talk then of living in the moment, of seizing the day, of how, “now more than ever,” this or that seemed more important. But my clarity came from a far more personal crisis than the terrorist attacks.
Funny how I forgot that wrenching confluence amid the 10th anniversary remembrance.
So much easier to recall details about the actual day and subsequent attempts to wrench meaning out of the tragedy. I vowed I would not too caught up in anniversary coverage, but could not help but read some of the stories of those affected personally by the tragedy and cried anew.
Now more than ever.
