September eleventh

Twelve years ago, I was a stay at home mom and a part time college student. I was out painting on the back porch with my toddler, living the isolated life of the American mother. My husband called and told me to turn on the television.
Soon after, I did the only thing I could think to do: I organized my first community event, an interfaith vigil in Rockville. The only way I could see myself or the people around me getting through this was by coming together, in spite of our differences, to share our grief. Twelve years later, it is still the only way I see forward: sharing the burden of our collective and individual suffering to make sense of it. I am grateful for where I am and for all the opportunities life has given me to build community around that ideal. It is in compassion and a commitment to understanding one another that our power lies. It is through interdependence and grace that we can learn to care as much for one another as we care for ourselves.