My selfish grief.

This weekend marked the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. 

I did my best to stay away from the television, the newspaper, etc.

Of course I remember where I was that day.  Much the same as I remember where I was when the Challenger exploded, or people remember where they were when Kennedy was assassinated. 

I don't need to go over any of those details.  If you were alive at that time, you know them well enough.

My grief over Mom is still too raw for me to join in others grieving.  While I by no means know the horror those people have faced the last 10 years with those horrible events on that September morning... I know my own horror.

Like them, I know what it is like to wake up feeling normal one day, to have that all suddenly riped from you in an instant.  I know what it's like to miss that person taken from me under terrible circumstances, and I know what it's like to wonder if that person would be proud of the person I am becoming.  I know what it's like to miss the sound of their voice, or the touch of their skin. 

I know.  I remember.  I can never forget.

I should not compare my one single loss to that of an entire nation.  My loss has been private, not put out there for everyone to see over and over.

But what I should or shouldn't do isn't always up to me. 

In a way... I know what those people have gone through.

And in a way... maybe this grieving nation of ours knows a little more what I've been through too.