Everyone sees through the lens of their own experience. For me, after the intiial shock and horror of what happened, I thought about the extra deaths. I won't say unnecessary deaths, because every death that day should not have happened, but my dad was a fireman, after all. I think about the (mostly) men who responded as they always do when that bell goes off, and who ran into those buildings, while everyone else was doing their best to run out. And some of whom, because this is what they do, probably had idiot grins on their faces because they took a certain joy in their job.
My dad was one of those crazy, heroic men, and I know if he'd been alive in 2001, he would have been hitching up to NYC with a busload of other firemen and first responders, spending days on that pile with a shovel, leaning against that iconic tangle of metal, waitling to see if there were any more survivors down there. Not resting until all of their own were brought out.
It somehow made it worse that it was such a beautiful fucking day.
Remembering everyone who lost their lives, or lost someone, on that day 13 years ago. But especially remembering those who run in while others are running out.