A Letter on Remembering
My Dearest Friend,
On this day, I always find myself pausing—returning in memory to a classroom where teachers hurried in with hushed voices and worried faces. We were deemed too young to watch the news unfold, yet not too young to feel its weight. That morning, though far from the cities struck, left an imprint that never faded.
My father had stepped away from active duty only a few years before, yet his life remained deeply entwined with the military. I remember the quiet fear in his voice as he reached for friends still serving, the late-night conversations whispered about what might come next. Even as a child, I sensed that an attack of such magnitude would ripple outward, shaping not only our nation but also the families bound to its defense.
And so it has. For those of us who became military spouses in the years that followed, September 11th is not merely a date on the calendar—it is a marker of the world we entered. It shaped the missions our beloveds would undertake, the deployments that came, the friendships forged in hardship and separation. It shaped us, too—the families who learned to wait, to endure, to steady ourselves through uncertainty.
I have carried that shift into my own life: in the long nights of worry, in the quiet strength of children who learn resilience far sooner than we wish, in the enduring love that anchors us when absence stretches long. And yet, alongside the fear, I remember also the constancy of community—neighbors opening doors, friends holding one another through loss, families choosing service even when it may cost them dearly.
Today, I remember. I remember those who were lost. I remember those who served. And I remember that the life I live as a military spouse is forever woven into that story, whether I asked for it or not.
