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Each year, I feel increasingly affected by 9/11 stories. I think maybe it's that with every year I grow older, I meet more kinds of people, I understand more what it means to love them more deeply, I know what it is to love a child preciously and fear that they could meet the same fate some day.

It's horrible to think of anyone's last moments being so terrifying, so confusing. It makes it almost impossible to endure stories of tragedy anywhere in the world, of which there are too many.

Today I'm thinking of the 2.5yo I read about who was on Flight 175, headed for Disney for her first time. I imagine her parents holding her so tightly at the moment of impact as she probably squirmed to get free, not understanding. I know that's what would happen with my kid, who's the same age now.

I was a sophomore in high school when it happened, and I truly did not understand the gravity of the moment. Maybe it's because we got to just sit and watch the news in every period that day and while it felt very real, it also felt like a day off from doing schoolwork.