A year ago tonight, I took a walk on Art Hill. There was a breeze, the temperature was fairly normal, and I was on my way home from a Cardinals game. However, Art Hill that night was different.

The breeze caused a small shiver in the flags covering the hill. There were around 3,000 of these five foot flags. Each had a name, each had a date, each had story. Every flag on the hill represented a victim of the 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centers (New York) and Pentagon (Washington D.C.).

A shiver came over me. The flags went all the way across the hill, far beyond where I could see. Some of the people killed were my age. Some were younger. Some were mothers, fathers, grandparents, brothers, sisters and friends.

I wanted to shake each victim’s hand. I wanted to take away the pain they went through. I wanted them to be alive, to have the liberty to go to a Cardinals game or take a walk on Art Hill.

Anger came over me. It was hard to comprehend why anyone would commit such horrible actions. Saddness rushed through me as well. It was hard to fathom. For each flag there was a person. A person whose heart once beat just like mine.

I slowly made my way down the hill. At the bottom I looked up. The breeze continued to come and go, and the flags continued to wave.

As much as I wanted to, that night showed me that I could not forget about the terrible events that took place on September 11, 2001. On the eve of the tenth anniversary of the tragedy, I stared at the flags. Each had a name, each had a date, each had a story. These people don’t deserve to be forgotten. In fact, they can’t be forgotten. We have to remember. We have to mourn for each heart, each face, each soul now wiped off the Earth’s face.

The victims never had anything in common before that terrible September morning. Now, here they stood, on a windy September evening, united forever.