It was around this moment that we all watched the TV in horror on September 11th. My son, almost to term, kicked me from within my large belly and my toddler unknowingly played by my feet as I watched it all unfold. On a beautiful clear morning, our world was transformed and I immediately wondered how my children would fare growing up with this new burden to bear. Eleven years later, I watch the live feed of the memorial and see a mother with her arms around a boy Peter’s age. He lays a rose upon a nameplate as he tightly grasps a photo of the father he probably never met. In this moment, I want to reach out to him and tell him we love him. How fortunate am I that I have the ability to tell my kids I love them every day. I believe that the love we show our own kids will come back to this boy in some way over the years. Love trickles down from one to another. The children of 9-11 will always be held up by love itself.
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