9/11 is widely regarded as a very sad day, but in my family it was always happy. Before you start accusing, we’re not terrorists, or horrible people, it just happens to be my sister’s birthday. My sister was born on September 11, 2000. One year before the attacks. Her first birthday goes in history books as a terrible, horrible day. But my memory of this day, over the years, is a little different.
I was 4 when the twin towers fell. To tell you the truth I don’t remember where I was, or the day particularly, I was a smidge too young. I remember I was home sick, and that it was my beloved sister’s first birthday.
Liz was, and is, very loved. I was desperate for a sister, and was positive she was going to be a girl, even with my parents warning. I wanted to name her Cinderella, or Pinnocio, if she wasn’t a girl. I knew she would be though, hence Pinnocio being a far less cool name. In 2000, the day she was born, I insisted she have a birthday cake and presents, because it was her birthday. We’ve always been very close. Over the years 9/11 has taken on such a different meaning to me than it has to others because of it. Not that I don’t understand why we mourn, or mourn myself. But birthday cake and mourning loss don’t go very well together and we end up between and betwixt.
This year, tomorrow, my sister, Elizabeth, turns 16. The big 16! I can’t believe the little girl who toddled behind me is turning into a woman so fast. It seems like yesterday she was turning 10, heck it seems like yesterday I was turning ten.
So anyway, if you happen to read this, happy birthday Elizabeth. Thank you for making the world brighter on its darkest days. ❤️