It’s been said that “time heals all wounds”. And to some extent, I guess this is true. But what about the scars that are left behind?

If you did a close examination of me….you will see a number of physical scars. When I was little, I had a bad habit of falling down the stairs, and smacking my head into the cast iron radiator that some genius had installed at the bottom. This resulted in many trips to the hospital for stitches. While the injuries are long healed, if you look closely at my forehead, you will see a scar in the shape of a cross. If you look at the left side of my head (after a good close haircut) you will see yet another scar. This one the result of a young child not listening to his father when he said “DON’T RUN UP THE STAIRS!!!”. So what did I do? Yup. You guessed it. I ran up the stairs. And found the nail that was sticking out of the wall. I remember another time when my brother was “teaching me how to use a chisel”. Lesson #1….when teaching someone how to do something, make sure you know how to do it yourself. As the chisel skipped across my left pinky and ring finger, I remember thinking “OUCH!!! That’s gonna leave a mark”. I went to my Mom and asked for a bandaid (holding my hand behind my back the whole time). She asked me “what for?”. So I showed her my hand. Of course, by this time, the blood from the cuts had just about covered my hand, and I’m sure my Mom thought that I had cut my fingers off. There were many other incidents. Some involved bikes. Trampolines. And most from my own stupidity. Most of these scars, I look back on and get a pretty good laugh. Others, I don’t even remember how they happened.

Today marked the 12th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on 9-11. I have written several times about my memories of this day. Where I was. What was happening. The events that transpired afterwards. And like many, I still get a little choked up when I see footage of this event. I remember a trip I took to New York City back in 2007. I went to “Ground 0”. And even 6 years later, you could still see the physical scars on some of the surrounding buildings. A constant reminder of an event that occurred years before. These scars though, didn’t bring with them a chuckle like the scars I have. Instead, it brought tears to my eyes, and a lump to my throat. I thought of all the people that lost there lives that day. As I was recalling my trip, and thinking about the different scars that we carry, it occurred to me that every one of us that remembers this horrific day, carries with us a scar from it. Ask anyone where they were on that day. What they were doing. And they will be able to recall (likely in vivid detail) everything. They can recall what they were thinking. What they were feeling. These are the scars that we carry from 9-11. As time goes on, you can begin to see the wounds of that day healing. It’s evident in the way we press forward and refuse to let this get us down. The way we insist on rebuilding. We as a nation are healing from the attacks. But we will always carry with us the scar.

Scars come in all sorts of shapes, sizes, meanings. Some are visible, others aren’t. Some make us laugh as we recall what caused them. While others make us cry. The scar that got me thinking today, wasn’t a physical scar. It wasn’t even anything that happened to me. It was the scar that was left on the families of those who lost a loved one that day. The wife who lost her husband. The husband that lost his wife. The parent’s who lost a child. These scars, in particular, are the ones I’m thinking about today. And it all started with a song I heard on the radio, about a young girl who lost her father in the attacks on 9-11. I don’t usually cry easy. But it took all of about 10 seconds for this song to reduce me to an emotional wreck. And I’ll leave you with this. Hug your kids. Call your parents and tell them you love them. Don’t miss an opportunity to make someone smile, or express to a loved one just how much they mean to you. Because you never know when it will be the last time. And another scar is added to your story.

P.S. Get some tissues ready


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