eight years later

It was eight years ago that the whole world changed.

Like most moments in history that stand our brighter (or darker, I suppose) than most, those who lived through them remember every last detail. Where they were when they heard (or saw), what the weather was like, what happened in the moments following.

I was in a classroom. I watched, in real time, as the second plane hit the World Trade Center. President Bush was in town. It was sunny. The day passed in a blur of different news channels and talk of war.

The whole world changed. Everyone will tell you that. The darkest day in our history. The greatest attack on America - on our home.

Yet, my world didn't change. My day-to-day life remained the same. The only thing that changed was what was shown on my TV and what everyone talked about.

I have been to New York City - the greatest city - twice.

Both times after that fateful day. I have visited Ground Zero and stood where thousands lost their lives and thousands saved lives. I mourned those lost and celebrated the heroes who rose up. I mark this day each year, every year. I remember where I was, the sunny weather, and the terrifying scenes that followed.

And while this is my home, it never hit home.

Until this day, 8 years later.

Because 8 years and 3 days after the attack on this county - after the planes flew into buildings, towers fell, and people lost their lives to an act of terrorism - my baby brother is headed to war.

A war that begins and ends with that attack on this county, eight years ago.

Eight years later and it finally hits home. It's finally personal.

My brother, like thousands, maybe millions of others, is becoming a hero because of September 11th.