Tears of loss

American history grasped clumsily against a bright purple cast plastered from fingers to above my tiny elbow. I had broken my first bone just two days before. Using pain that had already past as an excuse to skip school and delay a history test I had neglected to prepare for.

I walk into my parents bedroom, their big bed an inviting place to spend the day "studying" like I had agreed too. My mom on the phone, back turned to the tv in the corner of the room.

A ten year old has no interest in the news, but it's still more interesting then trying to study. So I'm staring at the screen when the first breaking news scroll flashes. I'm not really interested, but I see the first video come on, the plane already wedged into the building like a toy. Something that couldn't be real.

I'm confused as my mom starts yelling, her hand covering a mouth in shock, still speaking into the phone grasped desperately to her ear.

I'm staring at the TV when the lady on screen starts yelling that there is another one. I see the plane flying so low. It's like a dream. A nightmare. To horrific for the mind of ten year old girl, safe in her parents bedroom, to understand. Who just minutes before thought her broken arm was the worst thing to happen.

The first taste that the world is not centered around her and her family.

Tears only come when the first tower starts to fall. Realization of such devastation bringing my small world into sharp focus.

The days that follow, I can't watch the replay without tears stinging. I had no personal connection, no family or friends, or even friends of friends who were connected. It felt that I had. This feeling of loss, this overwhelming feeling of devastation leaves me confused. I feel selfish. How dare I feel such loss when it wasn't me who lost anything? When I didn't lose a loved one? I feel like a fraud with each tear that stings the corner of my eyes.

This is a feeling that has never left. Each year I avoid memorial videos. I avoid stories of loss, and stories of miracles. If I don't, the tears come. Instinctively appearing with no effort. With them the guilt. The feeling that I don't deserve to shed these tears of loss.