Every year on the anniversary of 9/11, I purposely drive past the Pentagon on my way to work from home in northern Virginia. As I motor up the George Washington Parkway toward the Memorial Bridge, with the Pentagon on my right and Arlington National Cemetery on my left, I get a large lump in my throat, followed by tears, followed by a silent prayer.
Eighteen years later, it still hurts my heart very deeply. I see the various flags flying at half-staff in the early morning sunrise on the summer banks of the Potomac, and the horrible events of that day come rushing back as if it was yesterday. |