The 9/11 Memorial is so moving, at least for me. So many lives did not get a chance to continue.

This name is just one of thousands but to my mom, Robert W Hamilton was a childhood friend. He was born on the 16th of January, 1958, and grew up in Ridgewood, Queens, Ny. He had a son and a daughter and he spent his entire FDNY career at Squad 41 in the Bronx. He gave his life helping others, eighteen years ago.

Man. Eighteen. That hurts to write that. It’s a number that we equate with becoming an adult and voting; it’s an official number. Today there are people that are old enough to vote that don’t remember the attacks. They don’t remember the smoke clouds from the towers. They don’t remember the second plane hitting the tower. More importantly, they don’t remember the feelings felt knowing that we had been attacked.

Many people my age had our lives changed forever within that hour and forty-two minutes. We had no idea that life would never be the same. Many would VOLUNTEER to wear a uniform. Didn’t matter if it was military or civilian service. It was the right thing to do: defend our country and its people, no matter what the cost.

We should never forget, not just because it’s a catchy phrase that gets thrown around like a broken-in pair of gym shorts. By keeping the names of those that perished that day, and the days that followed, in the front of our memories, they will never be completely gone. The 9/11 memorial is just that: a constant reminder of those that we don’t want to be gone. I hope it’s also a reminder of what happened that day so that the embers of that fire that was within all of us may never, ever, be extinguished.

🇺🇸 Never. Ever. Forget. 🇺🇸