Nothing much to report here, other than my two humble, Writer’s Workshop, “Badge” submissions.

Tragic events which leave deep emotional scars on those left behind tend to soften as time passes.  But not always.  Not even after these twenty-two years when, on that beautiful September morning, each of our lives were severely impacted by the willful, destructive ideology of radical Islamic extremists.

As I sat and watched the yearly ceremony in New York City, it seemed to hit harder than in previous years.  It was almost as if it had just taken place for the first time.  The incredible pain of watching innocent lives disappearing as two majestic icons collapsed into clouds of smoke and twisted metal was beyond overwhelming. 

My personal reaction might have been due to spending time at both the Freedom Tower and 9/11 Museum with my family.  The footprint of the North Tower had us walking on what I deemed sacred ground; there was a sense that many who had perished were watching over each visitor, perhaps looking for a familiar loved one, waiting to send some spiritual comfort to those left behind.

Today, I again watched, and listened, as names were read by family members.  Their tears gently fell as they spoke about the losses they suffered, each vowing to never forget.  Brave families, with such unimaginable voids in their lives, who took time to share sweet stories and express their love as they looked to the heavens.

Twenty-two years have passed; many more will follow.  Ceremonies and observances will continue.   One day, the September 11th tragedy will become a chapter in history for generations that follow.  That is, until those generations walk on hallowed ground and learn to never forget.

Writing, anything, often sends me in different directions, especially when my focus is distracted.  In some ways, that tells me that I wasn’t all that invested in the subject matter in front of me at that moment.  Moment…became the operative word surrounding a tragedy and the loss of adventurers, likely at 7:08 this morning, somewhere near Newfoundland.

Part of me understands the need to find out more about historical events, that’s why there are museums, libraries and other sites in place for our explorations.  My family and I stood on hallowed ground at the 9/11 Memorial site here in New York, finding ourselves wrapped in the eerie moments of silence, still unable to move past the horrors of that heartbreaking day. How much different was our experience from this Titan voyage? We witnessed the smoke from the collapse of the World Trade Center, we had friends and family caught in the terror of that day, we joined millions of others in prayers and tears.

What I disagree with is this business-oriented, human invasion, of the resting place of over 1500 souls via submersible tours, available to those willing to pay a hefty price for their voyeurism. So much has already been recorded and salvaged from the Titanic and the ability to peer through photographs and documents is readily available.  The need to trespass into this particular graveyard, to me, is a lack of respect for those who perished in the freezing waters of the Atlantic.

Sadly, five people have now become another page in Titanic’s history.  I hope they offered a prayer for all who perished in 1912…just as we do now, for them, at this moment, as they drift off in their endless sleep.