I remember September 11, 2009, the day our nation was attacked by al-Qaeda terrorists. Four planes were hijacked with the intention of crashing into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the White House. Two of the planes crashed into the Twin Towers leaving no survivors. The third airliner crashed into the Pentagon also leaving no survivors. The fourth airplane was supposed to fly into the White House, but was unsuccessful and landed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Some brave passengers and flight crew members attempted to retake control of the plane, and in the process saved hundreds of lives, but at the cost of their own. They were everyday people who turned out to be heroes. I remember September 11, 2009. I remember the 2,993 people that died that day. I remember the terrifying fear that spread throughout all of America, but I never felt it. I never felt any of it. I was young and naïve. I didn’t know anyone that died that day. I didn’t have to feel the loss. I could pretend that a war wasn’t going on. It was easy to act like people weren’t dying. I was among the lucky ones. The few.