I had a hard day yesterday. Nothing major, just a crappy, bleh day, one in a string of days that have followed sleepless nights. Lately I haven’t been able to fall asleep (last “night” I fell asleep between 6:30 and 7 AM) As frustrating as that is, it’s not the end of the world. Eleven years ago, though, it was the end for many, many people. While I tend to read and waste time on the net, I gave in to the siren call of the boob tube. The tv happened to be on TLC and they were airing several September 11 commemoratives, mostly focusing on the medical/rescue workers and another specifically about 2 men that saved over 50 people from the North Tower. Of course I sat there bawling like a baby. Then I watched Hoarders and bawled some more. By the time Intervention was on, I was a mess. I couldn’t get the images of the planes flying into the towers out of my head. But I’m glad. I’m glad for my own sake that I have never personally suffered through anything so devastating, because somehow I don’t think I could handle it. I’m glad that the families who lost loved ones will NEVER be forgotten because of these shows and documentaries. Mostly,  I hope I never forget how much we lost that day and how it made me feel to see those images so that I can do my part to make sure that I remember the victims, not the hate.