Finding A Piece of Happiness
These stories hit me differently. They depict survival with a moment or two of relief, happiness, and support from total strangers.
I watched as those who were in New York City on September 11, 2001 shared their stories on TV Friday night. It was the 25th anniversary of 9/11.
Over the years, I’ve heard many stories on TV, social media, and from family and friends who were there that horrific morning when planes flew into the twin towers.
I was 23 years old and had just gotten out of the shower when I saw the events unfold on TV. I was living in a suburb of Boston at the time.
My uncle was a firefighter in Manhattan. We made phone calls, lit candles, said our prayers, and waited. We continued to wait and wait. He was never found.
This year, twenty-five years later, felt different.
Every year for the last twenty-four years I posted a remembrance of 9/11 on Facebook. Friends always commented with hug emojis and offered their condolences. This was the first year I didn’t post anything.
Instead, I watched.
I watched as a woman on TV told her story of going into work that morning and carrying a nine-month-old baby to safety.
I was curious about who else’s experience ended with even the tiniest moment of happiness, kindness, or goodwill that day. I found this story and this one.
These stories hit me differently. They depict survival with a moment or two of relief, happiness, and support from total strangers. I felt some joy reading them on my couch that night instead of complete sadness in the midst of mourning all that was lost that day.
If you're looking for a thoughtful story about shifting perspectives, navigating hard transitions, and being honest with yourself, you might enjoy this essay:
Anna
