I was 8 years old on 9/11. Old enough to remember, not old enough to get it. And I think many people in my generation struggled to get it because we were children, and almost everyone who died on 9/11 was an adult. But every year, as I got older and the stories remained the same, the deeper they hit. I read Todd Beamer’s story again. When I first read it, I must’ve been a child — and of course it’s hard to imagine yourself on flight 93, but as a 10-year-old, how do you relate to a grown man — father, athlete, employee, business traveler, and in the end, hero? When I was reading the story today, I came across the photo that previously had looked so old to me, and I thought “he looks pretty young”. He was 32 that day, a few months shy of his 33rd birthday — younger than me today. His whole life was still ahead of him. As so many years have now passed, it dawned on me that so many of the victims then were younger than I now; just starting out in their 20s. I’d see them as kids today. Robbed of life, youth, and the great journey ahead. Many others are writing that the 25th anniversary is hitting them unusually hard. Part of it is that with a longer arc of hindsight, it is becoming clearer and clearer what we lost. As for me, age adds perspective.