Every corner we turned we were being watched even after all of the lines and security check. It made me think of those that still would rather destroy us than see our nation thrive, those that would rather kill innocent Americans on American soil.
But it was of my parent’s generation. It was not of mine.
As I walked along the 9/11 Memorial, I saw Flight 175 etched. I paused. I have flown hundreds of flights. Hundreds and hundreds. I have always been safe.
I stood in silence to honor and remember those that boarded Flight 175 and never came home. Then next to me, on my left came a man who put water in his hands and put it on Amy R. King’s name. He was emotional. Two sets of arms wrapped around him. I didn’t move away and kept looking ahead at the water. They said a few things to each other about how it felt good to put the water on her name. The man and two other more elderly people walked away in emotion. Amy was important to them.
I turned to walk away, towards my friends when I glanced to the left. There was a Kathryn L. I have had the initials KLL most of my life. Kathryn L is still my name. There was a woman on Flight 175 with my shared and similar name. Did she go by Kathryn I wondered? Or was she Katie like me? Was she traveling on business? Did she have kids? Where was she from? How did her family find out the news? Have they been to the 9/11 Memorial? Have they put water on her name?