Comfort.

It's Thursday night in my lovely, pre-war home. It's September 11th in my lovely, pre-war home. And this morning, I made sure to watch the beginning of the memorial service. I saw the blue covered benches at the Pentagon. I paused, remembered where I was seven years ago. And then I went about my day.

Watching a recount on the History Channel tonight, I realized how uncomfortable I am watching the footage from that day. I remember that day - remember going to Dr. Edgar's history class, sitting in front of the Humanities building, curling on the chair in my apartment. I remember the weeks after. As a nation we searched for understanding, comprehension. And then I've lived the last seven years as a President tried his level best to understand the rules to a world that had changed on his watch.

The world has changed. I will be eighty years old and still feel uncomfortable watching and hearing the stories of that day. The families, the first responders, the city. I will be [insert emotion here*] when I watch the dust, the rubble, the posters of lost family members. *Numb, scared, grateful.

I do not want my children to ever see anything like this. Let that be our prayer and refrain.