When the math teacher came down the hallway screaming, I thought there was a school shooter. Naturally, we stampeded the door and left our geometry books behind. She led us into the library where a live news broadcast of New York City was on TV and we witnessed a plane fly into the second World Trade Center tower; while the first one burned right in front of our eyes. My heart aches for those we lost, for those who risked their lives to save others, who stayed behind to die so others could live. My heart aches for all the trauma endured from losing the one you couldn’t possibly live without to those who practice a religion peacefully, yet fear and experience a rage filled retribution. Fifteen years later and the wound has yet to heal because of that dumb, blind hate. That does America a disservice to his spirit. As I strolled around One World Trade Center this July and read every name on the fountain, I noticed the quiet even though hundreds strolled through the memorial, too. I noticed the solemn respect that every race, creed, age, and nationality held in that space where the names are displayed. A more appropriate name for One World Trade Center could not be. This Patriot Day, I am not wishing more American Patriotism onto anyone, but I certainly am wishing every person loving kindness. That was the feeling I received standing among the hundreds who were, like me, paying respect to those whose lives were irrevocably torn to shreds from that day onward.
We were rained out of the BOTANIC gardens, luckily, there was the butterfly pavilion.
And as it turns out, I am still a huge wuss when it comes to getting close to any kind of winged anything. But, even in the face of grave danger, the kind of danger butterflies pose, I will persevere in order to get the shot.