As goes without saying, the world is different today than it was seven years ago. Seven years ago, I was in Alaska and woke to the phone ringing at 7 a.m. My husband away in California was calling to tell me of the attacks that had happened and the towers that had fallen. It had all happened before I even woke up. I watched the news in shock and horror until my little boy, not quite two years old, took notice of the TV and started babbling about airplanes and smoke.

I couldn't stand the thought of him seeing the horror of it all and at the same time I was so grateful that I could shield him from it by shutting off the television. There were some parents in the thick of it, who could not do the same; those traveling on the planes with their children; those in the Pentagon and the WTC who knew they weren't going to be coming home to their children. There was no off-button for them.

Seven years later that little boy is almost nine and I have four other little ones that I hang on to and endeavor to teach and protect. The war that started that day is still going on and turning off the news won't stop my children from knowing what's happening in the world for long. Nor should they be kept entirely in the dark. Those who died and the tale of that horrible day should not be forgotten and so we have to tell the story and pray for those who were lost.

Today is a day to mourn and never, ever forget.