Today marks 25 years since September 11, 2001
Twenty-five years ago, the world stopped.
For many people, today brings back memories that are still incredibly vivid. The moments. The hours. The days that followed. Some people can still remember exactly where they were, who they were with, what they were doing, and the moment they first heard the news.
I can.
I was in 9th grade and at school for swim team practice. Our coach stopped practice early, pulled us out of the pool, and gave us the news.
I remember not really understanding what he was telling us.
As the day went on, classmates were pulled out of school by their parents. Those of us who remained watched the televisions, trying to understand what we were seeing.
What a time we were living in.
I didn’t personally know anyone who died on 9/11. But looking back 25 years later, I recognize how much those attacks taught us about grief, trauma, and secondary trauma.
We learned that trauma doesn’t always belong only to the people who were physically present.
We learned that watching something unfold on a television screen can leave an imprint.
We learned that a date on the calendar can carry a lot of weight.
And we learned that time doesn’t necessarily erase the way something felt.
Twenty-five years is a long time.
A lot can happen in 25 years.
People grow up. They get married. They have children. They change careers. They move. They lose people they love. They make new memories.
Life continues.
And yet, sometimes, something happens that brings us right back.
A song.
A smell.
A place.
A photograph.
A conversation.
A date on the calendar.
Suddenly, we’re remembering something we haven’t thought about in a long time—or maybe something we’ve thought about many times, but haven’t felt quite this way in a while.
This is one of the things I wish more people understood about grief:
Our relationship with grief changes over time.
That doesn’t mean the grief disappears.
When grief bursts through
This week, I shared a song in my When Grief Stays: Living With Loss Together community called “Beat You There.”
I normally share a song about grief every Sunday, but somehow I missed this past Sunday’s post.
So I posted it today instead.
Five days late.
And as I listened to the lyrics again, I found myself wondering if maybe it was meant for today all along.
Because the song reminded me of something that is easy to forget:
Grief may change with time, but when the grief bursts happen, the pain is real.
You may have gone weeks, months, or even years without feeling that particular ache quite so strongly.
And then suddenly, it is there.
That doesn’t mean you’ve gone backward.
It doesn’t mean you haven’t healed.
It doesn’t mean you should be “over it” by now.
It means you are human.
And something touched the place where love and loss still live.
We carry what we’ve loved
There is something else I’ve come to understand through my own experiences with loss and through sitting with so many people in their grief:
Grief is not evidence that you’re stuck.
Sometimes grief is evidence that something mattered.
Someone mattered. A moment mattered. A life mattered.
And sometimes, years later, our hearts still remember.
That doesn’t mean we aren’t moving forward.
We can move forward while remembering.
We can laugh and still miss someone.
We can have good days and still have moments that hurt.
We can build a meaningful life while carrying losses that will always be part of our story.
Twenty-five years later, I don’t remember September 11 exactly as I experienced it when I was 14.
I’ve grown. I’ve changed. My understanding has changed.
But I still remember.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe remembering is part of how we honor what happened.
Maybe the goal isn’t to stop remembering.
Maybe it’s learning how to carry what we remember with compassion.
If today has brought something up for you, be gentle with yourself.
You don’t have to explain the heaviness.
You don’t have to apologize for remembering.
Honor it.
Take care of your heart.
If you’d like a place to continue conversations about grief, you’re welcome to join my Facebook community, When Grief Stays: Living With Loss Together. Each Sunday, I share a song for the journey along with reflections and honest conversations about what it means to live with loss.
Join When Grief Stays: Living With Loss Together
Take care of your heart.
Jessica
Hope Again Counseling
A safe place. Real conversations. Hope for today.
