This post appeared in a previous blog and is here for posterity’s sake.

I choose not to comment on the third anniversary of September 11th.
I was enjoying life, the company of my friends, and loved ones.
I went to the US Open for the first time; I was experiencing the joys of life.
I’m not callous or forgetful, it is in fact, quite the opposite. I have to live with the loss every time I look downtown, or though my little park on the way to work, or across the bridge, or walking in the Village, or on the BQE. There are thousands of little things that remind me of that day.
The loss New York feels happens everyday – it is continual. We are reminded of it when armed troops protect our trains. Or when quintessential “New York Moments” turn into wondering if the man with 30 binoculars looking at the United Nations building is a terrorist. It is seeing a bag on the subway platform, telling a police man, and him telling you it was his; it is Emergency Service officers walking around the grounds of a sporting event which jar you back to three years ago.
Without living here, the rest of the country cannot possibly understand this. September 11th is but a day for many people, but it ebbs and flows here every day. How can we heal if we are constantly reminded of the loss? But we do, and we don’t forget, but we move on with our lives.
But this loss is nothing compared to the families who sustained real loss three years ago. This is why I didn’t comment on that day, but listened to the bells toll out four times in the morning. And heard the recitation of names. And looked up at night to those two beautiful pillars of light, pointing heaven bound toward those who died that day.
It is a time to remember, but it is time to live.
Today is September 12th.