I’m 45 years old today.
It’s September 11th.
This has not been an easy day for the past 16 years. We were in France in 2001, happily oblivious to the earth-shattering events unfolding in the US. We only found out the next day, on our way home.
It is getting easier to share my birthday with what’s undoubtedly the worst anniversary in modern history. I feel less… overshadowed. And more able to share how it’s felt without thinking I sound like an ungrateful wretch.
It’s not the memorial side of things I have an issue with: if I was ever to visit New York, I would absolutely go to Ground Zero and leave flowers.
What I do hate is the voyeurism of some of the programming that’s inevitably on TV in the run-up to the date. It cannot help the families of those who died or the people who survived to see such pain put on display. Hopefully, as the years go on, these programs will become lesser and let the memory of 9/11 be respectful.
As for me, we went to our local DIY shop and bought more stuff for the shed we’re building in the back garden. Then there was pasta and the most childish cake I could find!