Gone, But Never Forgotten
This is my yearly 9/11 tribute. 13 years ago today, 19 terrorists attacked the United States of America and killed over 3000 innocent American citizens.
This story is dedicated to the victims, their Families and the Men and Women of this Country's Military.
I don't own Sons of Anarchy. And to those who serve, you have my eternal thanks.
September 11th, 2014, Ground Zero
It's been 13 years since that day. The day my Country was attacked. And every year, on this day, I come to visit. I know what your thinking. I probably lost someone in the attacks.
Well, no. I didn't lose anyone that day. At least, not anybody I knew.
But that day is seared forever in my brain. Nothing I do can make it go away.
I was a young 18 year old walking through Washington Square Park. Not a care in the world.
One minute I was thinking about what I wanted to do.
The next minute, all Hell had broken loose. People panicking and screaming. The screaming is what I'll never forget. It's seared in my memory.
When the Towers collapsed, I got lost in the crowds. I finally hid in a dumpster, in a back alley. About a day later, some people finally found me. I had been too scared to move. I cried myself to sleep that first night. I didn't know what was happening.
They say Hindsight is 20/20. Hiding in that dumpster wasn't probably the best idea at the time. But I was a dumbass kid. What did I know?
My country had been attacked. I knew it. Some motherfuckers had killed a lot of people. I knew that too. Most of all, like many others that felt the same way, I wanted some motherfucking payback.
No one attacks my country and gets away with it. That's why I joined the Army three days later. I wanted to hunt down the bastards that did this and make them pay.
After Basic, I signed up to join the Army Rangers. Figured that would ensure I went to combat.
My first Tour in Afghanistan ended with 25 confirmed kills. Got myself promoted to Lance Corporal. I went back to Afghanistan another time.
Then came Iraq. Stupid, fucking, Iraq. Not a week in and I'm out of there because a stupid IED took one of my nuts.
I was medically discharged because of it. I was mad as Hell. That was 2005. When I got out the hospital, I went back to New York and visited Ground Zero.
Every year since then, I've come back. Because even if I wanted to, I can't forget that day. Sometimes at night, I would wake up screaming in a pool of sweat.
The memorial standing there has the names of everyone who died that day. I'm standing next to Happy while he put his yearly tribute next to his sister's name.
I never really got to know who Happy was when I was prospecting but I always looked up to him, Tig, Chibs. Hell, I even looked up to Clay Morrow.
I looked over to the right of Happy. There was his sister, standing beside him. She was beautiful.
Standing next to everyone here who paid tribute to their loved ones, were the ghosts of the people who lost their lives that day.
I saw the Tacoma Killer do something nobody thought he was capable of; he started to cry. I don't blame him. I did the exact same thing the first time I came here.
Who am I kidding? I still do it. Every time I come here, whether I want to or not.
The people who died that day are gone but they will never be forgotten.
I'll be back next year too. Because even ghosts don't forget.
Never Forget 9/11. And never forget the Men and Women who died keeping this Country free.