Ten years later, I’m still raw from 9/11.
That day, I lost my good friend Lisa Frost, who was on the second plane that hit the World Trade Center.
Images are still seared in my brain, though I desperately want to banish them from memory.
I still feel the indelible ache of profound loss that friends and strangers experienced.
And though pointless, what ifs remain.
Ten years later, I’m thinking about what 9/11 has meant to me, to us.
Am I a better person? I don’t know.
I’m disappointed that since then I’ve often been distracted by the trivial and failed to focus daily on what really matters.
Are we a better country? I don’t know.
I’m disappointed that our collective response as a nation wasn’t one of compassion but one of fear.
I’m heading back to Boston this weekend to remember Lisa and others who were taken from us that day and since.
Ten years later, I’m challenging myself and our nation—as we remember, grieve, heal, and hope—to ensure that they did not die in vain.