I am no one special.
I'm the little boy that gives up his favorite
teddy bear so that a stranger may be comforted.
I'm the single mother who has been trying to
teach her child to sleep in their own bed, who holds
them tight long into the night, thanking God it wasn't
her child that died.
I'm the old man, angry and resentful that his
military doesn't want him because of his age.
I'm the teenaged girl that spends hours cutting
ribbons for others to wear as a symbol of remembrance.
I'm the young man who doesn't understand why his
father was running up the stairs as the building fell,
trying to save just one more person, instead of saving himself.
I'm the old woman who will never see her grandchild again.
I'm the little girl, playing with her doll, who
can't understand when someone screams hateful things
at her because of where her family is from.
I'm the police officer, trying to keep idiotic
reporters safe, when his wife is still among the missing.
I'm the fire fighter that called in sick that
day, only to discover that someone else died in his place.
I'm the man who survived the falling building
only to learn that his sister and baby niece were in the plane.
I'm the secretary, angered by the seemingly
callous response of those around her.
I'm a spelunker, who is climbing down into the
remains of a building, hoping to find someone still alive.
I'm the dog handler, searching for bodies, that
has to comfort my animal when only death remains.
I'm the woman who stands in line for five hours
in order to give blood, hoping to help strangers in need.
I'm the man who gets up and goes to work every day,
in spite of the tragedy, because he still has a
family to feed.
I'm the first passenger to get back on a plane,
even though I'm terrified, because I know somebody has
to be first.
Who am I?
I'm nobody special.
I'm just an American.