All that lies in a memory...

For me, writing serves as a kind of therapy. I've never been good at expressing my feelings verbally. But, when it comes to a paper and pen - or in this case, a computer screen and keyboard - it always seems like it's easy to say what I need to say.

Today is one of those days where I need to use my keyboard and computer screen to say what I need to say.

I'm sure that I won't be the only person that sits down today with the intention of writing about their memories and the thoughts surrounding the events of September 11, 2001.

At least, I certainly hope that's the case.

I was in high school when the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon were attacked and Flight 93 crashed. I remember hearing about the first plane to hit the towers as I was driving to school in my old pick-up truck. I thought, "Seriously? Some idiot just flew a plane into the World Trade Center?"

Then, after I got to school and took my usual seat in the commons next to my friends, I watched as a plane hit the second tower.

At that moment - when we realized that this wasn't some kind of terrible accident - I think our generation went from feeling innocent, protected and free to scared, confused and pensive about the world around us.

I'm not sure about my classmates, but the rest of the day, as I went from class to class, I realized the world we knew was gone and it would never be the same. For the first time in our lives, we literally watched as history unfolded in front of our eyes. The generations that came before use had experienced wars and conflicts - but, we never had.

As the day went on, some of our teachers decided to cancel the class work for the day and watch the television coverage with us. Others left the classroom TVs on as they went on with algebra or biology lessons. Others still decided not to watch the day's events unfold at all and continued on as if nothing had happened.

But, something had happened. It changed the way we thought, acted and felt about ourselves and our country. Time had stopped.

It seemed like everyday activities were hard to focus on. I remember going out to do chores after I got home from school. Instead of feeding horses or cleaning stalls, I stood there in front of the barn, listening to the radio, and I cried. I felt helpless knowing that there was nothing I could do for all of those people that had died - and all of the people still coming to grips with the fact that their loved ones weren't ever going to come home again.

But, at the same time, I felt proud. Seconds after the attack on each building - and even after they collapsed - firefighters, police and even civilians went charging back in to search for survivors. Strangers on a plane stood together and gave their lives so that more lives wouldn't be lost. Even as a member of the younger generation - and as a person that had never felt the sting of war - I knew that was something to be proud of.

I didn't know anyone that was killed in the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon or Flight 93, but that doesn't mean that I don't still feel a special connection to each and every one of them. The civilians that died are still in my thoughts. Their families are still in my prayers. Those that died trying to save others or protect our country in the following months - and those that still serve in the armed forces - will always receive my gratitude and respect.

I'm not a New Yorker, employee of the Pentagon or family member of a person that was on one of those planes, but I'm still directly connected to the events of September 11 because I'm an American.

After eight years, I still feel the hurt every time I think about September 11. I still feel like my heart is being ripped out every time I see video footage of those planes crashing into the World Trade Center or the Pentagon, see pictures of the people jumping out of the towers and hear the voices from the passengers and crew of Flight 93.

I think, for the most part, every American feels the same way I do - regardless of political party, religion or social station.

We have not forgotten, and I pray to God that we never do. It's our duty to remember those that perished and cherish - yes, cherish- the memory of that day. It's hard, but it's something that we must do. It's our defining moment and our greatest hour.