For Some, Every Day Is September 11

He helped my son move, lugged stuff down from a six-floor walk-up. My husband helped, too, so he met Bill. But I didn't. Bill Hunt was a name, an old college roommate, someone I heard about but didn't know.

Then came Sept. 11.

"William Christopher Hunt, age 32, of Norwalk, Conn., died as a result of the disaster that occurred on Sept. 11, 2001, at the World Trade Center in New York City.” One degree of separation. My son's ex-roommate.

Richard Ross was on American Airlines Flight 11. There was no degree of separation here. We knew his mother, sister, wife, kids. We went to his memorial service, listened to his children speak, paid our respects at his house.

America adopted the tragedy of Sept. 11. It happened to us. We were attacked. We were shaken. We lost our innocence and some of our freedom. That's what we said a day later, a week later. That's what we say now. We're different, more cautious, less trusting. And every clear September day brings that one September day back.

But every day doesn't. That's the blessing of being a spectator. Of waiting in line at a wake instead of being the one greeting the guests. We feel some of the pain but not all of it.

And the pain dissipates.

Tomorrow the nation officially remembers and grieves. We do this all the time at anniversary Masses and memorials.  People come together and say nice things and share stories and shed a few tears. But then they go home, sad for a while. But not sad forever. Not sad at their core.

It's different for the families of all the people who died two years ago. For them every day is Sept. 11. Every day they wake up to the reality that the person they love is dead and that no matter how much time passes, this isn't going to change .

"You are my long drive, my slow dance, my summer wind and my starry sky. We share eyes and hands and now my heartbeat . . . Edith Wharton wrote, 'There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror which reflects  it.'  Daddy,  you  are  my  light  and  I  am  your  mirror,”  Richard  Ross' daughter, Abigail, wrote the day of her father's funeral.

Bill Hunt's family and friends continue to write to him. "My darling Bill,” his mother wrote on July 30. “Well, two important days just passed, your fifth wedding anniversary and your 34th birthday. How I wish we could  have celebrated those times together. Believe me darling, Dad and I thought of you often, as we do daily. I spoke to your wife and daughter and let them know we were thinking of them and love them. I am sure they were feeling blue, also. A tough time for all ofus, but then again, that happens every day.”

The nation respectfully remembers. But remembering isn't anything like living with loss. Two years later, we look back from a distance, but the families are stuck in time, changed not just on the outside, in the way they sit at a table, in the places they don't go to anymore, but on the inside, too. Changed by events that play over and over on television and in their heads, but that can never be reversed. We put up with long lines at airports, increased police presence and an economy depleted by our war on terrorism. We are different in ways that inconvenience us but not in ways that make it hard to get out of bed in the morning. We mourn for a while but not for a lifetime. Bill Hunt's family can be distracted and have good moments. But their loss is ever present.

"I miss you so much. I miss that handsome face, that beautiful red hair, the love I saw every time Dad and I were with you ... We had a wonderful life until Sept. 11th. God how I would like to tum the clock back."