Page 922 - Total War on PTSD

“The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.” - Robert Falcon Scott
Courtenay: I know it doesn’t make much sense but every 9:11...not the date but the time...twice a day every day I am reminded of the date of 9/11. It’s not like I set out every day to remember those numbers...those silent reminders of so many lives being snuffed out. I just seem to have a knack for looking at my watch or my phone at exactly 9:11 in the morning and evening.
Maybe it's my own way of holding on to the memories of people who may have been relatively unknown...whose only choices were to jump from the buildings because they didn't have any hope to hang onto.
The first time I realized that life could be snatched away at a moments notice, out of mid-air, was the Challenger disaster on January 28th, 1986. The second time was September 11th, 2001.
This is a poem I wrote that very day, still in shock at what I had seen and immensely saddened by the sight of those falling from the buildings.
Paper Butterflies
Hundreds of stories, thousands of lives
Papers like butterflies on their last winged flight Lives released too soon float towards heaven As the ever so thin proof of their being
Drifts down to earth
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