The day after.

I've been reading a lot of 9/11 tribute posts since yesterday and I considered doing one of my own. I still mourn, 6 years later, like most of the country.

But I have difficulty knowing the appropriate thing to write.

I have a friend who lost her husband at the World Trade Center. Since her husband's death, all of her mourning, all of her sadness has had to be shared with the rest of the country. Two years ago, when she decided to try dating again, she found that when she told prospective boyfriends about how her husband died, what was her tragedy became theirs, too. She now tells people that P. died in a car wreck. It's easier, she says, for everyone that way.

It's not like she doesn't understand that 9/11 greatly affected the rest of the country -- she does. And she respects that. But she wishes there were some kind of line where she and people who lost loved ones on that morning could mourn if not privately then differently. But she can't. It is a day that will always be shared and that is not always a comfort.

So today, on the day after 9/11, I remember that morning. I remember spilling my tea in bed as I watched the second plane hit. I remember that thousands of people lost friends and family members in New York, Washington DC and Pennsylvania. I remember P. and those God-awful plaid golfer's pants that he wore even when we made fun of him for doing so. I remember my friend's face on her wedding day, slightly drunk but so happy, and her face again the first time I saw her after P. died. I remember the thousands of soldiers who have died and the hundreds of thousands that are away from home right now to ensure that 9/11 can never happen again. I remember that there is a time and a place for everything and that as we move forward we must find a way to balance personal loss with collective loss.

I remember. Yes, I remember.