I’ve made a conscious effort the last few days in avoiding all the media coverage of the 10th anniversary of the murder and terror that took place in New York City, Pennsylvania and Washington, D.C. Thinking about those images that have remained on my brain’s hard-drive or those moments watching live in my little office in our church’s old building with pilot’s wives or sitting watching CNN for days…

…just crying.

And the quiet of my community without the sound of airplanes constantly overhead for a couple of days…

…well, I’m not sure I wanted to go back and re-visit those emotions and memories.

But, well, when you subscribe to the New York Times Sunday Edition and have a habit of flipping through it before you go to work each Sunday morning, suffice to say you can’t run from that city’s perspective of the same events you tried to avoid. It simply feels more personal in those pages.

And what got me was not the stories of heroes and victims and costs and families and wars and timelines of what has transpired in the last decade. Nope. I was ready for those.

What got me were the advertisements. Usually colorful and alluring and exciting and lavish and enticing. But not today:

I will remember. I will reflect. I will rebuild.
This one got me. I will do all these things.
Beautiful. And now on my bucket list of places in the USA I gotta see.
Not an ounce of blue in a Tiffany ad. The blue is in my emotional soundtrack while I’m flipping through the ads.
My hometown paper’s headline today.
I will carry on.

But today, I remember.

8:46am.

9:03am.

9:37am.

9:59am.

10:03am.

10:28am.

And I discovered that I cannot avoid tears.