This morning, on the way home from the boyfriend's house, the local radio morning show gals were recounting their memories from that fateful day twenty years ago.

My god, it's been twenty years. That doesn't seem possible.

As they told their stories, I thought of mine. The memories and, more importantly, the feeling are still clear as day.

At the time, I'd been out of Bible school just over a year and was living in an apartment above my grandmother's apartment and she was the next unit over from my parents.

I was going through a "no TV" stage and had the day off so, I woke around 11 am. I can't explain it, but as I leisurely went about my waking routine, in the quiet of my single living, I had a strong compulsion to turn on the TV. It wasn't out of a longing for what I'd been missing, or out of boredom, it was a demanding sense that I should turn the TV on. So, I did.

I turned the TV on at a point just after they had replayed the first tower getting hit. I didn't know it was a replay. I thought I was watching the coverage of something that had just happened. I was stunned, but thought it must have been just an accident.

Then, they replayed the second plane hitting the other tower and my stun turned to horror.

"That's no accident!" I thought as the TV now had my full attention.

At some point the news casting alerted me to the fact that I had slept through the event happening in real time as I watched the other planes hit the Pentagon and make a crater in Pennsylvania, but it didn't detract too much from my sense of collective shock, especially as the consequent days wore on.

I collected myself enough to go see if my grandmother was aware of the events as my parents were both at work. Of course, being no different from many elderly, typically house bound folks, she had her TV on and had been apprised.

However, she'd lived through Pearl Harbor and later helped in WWll efforts by joining the Navy Waves. 9/11 didn't impact her the way it did me. She wanted to go to Walmart for some groceries. It was bewildering to me, but I set my shock aside and got myself ready to help her get the things she felt she needed for the day.

Arriving at Walmart was probably the starkest memory. There were people there, but it wasn't packed and, it was quiet - very quiet. The monitors had the news on and people were milling around in absolute silence. No one was interacting with anyone and you could just feel the zombie like shock coming off the atmosphere like a tsunami.

The next day, I had to go to work. I was a waitress at a, then, popular chain restaurant. I really didn't want to go in and, if memory serves, it was a quiet shift. The cook, who I normally got along with, had, in the weeks leading up to 9/11, found a song that he liked quite a bit and would play on the kitchen cd player at least once a shift. It was death metal and the chorus went something like "I like dead bodies". I normally didn't give it much thought and it had a catchy tune so, I didn't mind it.

I don't know if it was that he really liked the song, or enjoyed the feeling of playing it for shock value, maybe it was both, but I had a strong intuition that he'd be playing it that day and I felt sick thinking about it. I really, really didn't want to hear that so soon after 9/11. I, like most of us, felt raw about the carnage and, while the song hadn't bothered me before, that day, it felt evil. Unfortunately, my intuition was finely tuned. Not only did he play it, he played it on repeat almost all day long.

But, again, I set myself aside. He needed it. It was how he was coping with and processing what we all were. At times, I wanted desperately to beg him to turn it off, but I let him do what he needed to and worked at tuning it out for myself.

As I thought on these memories, I realized something that has been a growing theme in my mind lately. I set myself aside, a lot. I set myself aside for others to give them what they need because I generally understand what people need and am happiest when I'm giving. But, it's exhausting sometimes.

It's not something I want to change about myself and I don't think I could if I tried. As I think about it, I'm always aware of my cautious efforts, but I'm becoming peripherally aware of my unconscious habit of needing social situations to be peaceful and harmonious and, in better instances, happy and fun.

I like giving to others, but when others are demanding to be around - whether purposefully or unconsciously - I get drained. I spend my energy on others, but I get my energy from time to myself, from doing my own thing. When I'm done being around others, I need time to myself to fill my coffers again. I also get some rejuvenating energy from being around others who don't need me to do much, if anything, in order for things to be peaceful and harmonious. There is a difference between being able to just "be" and having to be what someone else needs. Both who I am alone and who I am with others are intricately "who I am" so, it's not as if one is my true self and the other isn't, but I'm recognizing the difference between my alone self and my public self. I'm recognizing that I don't want to get rid of my giving tendencies, but I need to take time for myself, for my interests and my needs. I'm not healthy when every thing I do is for others.

So, twenty years after that awful day, for me, and out of no intent on my part, the memory has aided in self analysis that ought to lead to growth, or at least some balance for a healthier me and, as I survived the day, I owe it to those who didn't to let the memory be what it is and do what it's supposed to do.

9/11 Reflections and An Intimate Realization