Today marks the 18th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. Eighteen years have passed -- more than a decade and a half -- but for those closest to the terror, for those whose loved ones were caught in that unimaginable rage storm, for those who trained for this, who mobilized and fought so hard to try and save the lives already lost to them, we pay tribute by refusing to forget.
The pictures are all that is left. They stay with us and resonate as terrible, beautiful works of art.
The agony of the men and women who could do nothing but stand by and watch the towers fall reflected and drove home our own agony -- even those of us in the hinterlands who watched the horrific events unfold on our TV screens, helpless to do anything but gasp and moan and rock with a kind of psychic pain most of us had never felt in our entire lifetimes.
As painful as the dredging up of the images of that terrible day is to us, there is no sense of dread as the annual anniversaries approach. Every year, on September 11, we want to remember. 9/11 has become a watchword. Nobody in America has to be told what those numbers represent.
We will always remember.