It pains me today that most of society wants to forgive and forget what happened that day. 2,996 were dead, murdered as we sat in our homes and offices. More than 6,000 wounded, 343 firefighters and 71 police officers died trying to help people they probably never met. And today they are still dying, officers, paramedics, firemen, EMTs, good Samaritans and innocent victims —just from breathing the contaminated dust.
On every anniversary of the attack, I post a picture of the falling man on Facebook. It’s an iconic but controversial picture of a man who chose to leap to his death to avoid dying painfully in the fire he knew would surely kill him.
Put yourself in his shoes for a moment. Is he screaming in shear terror, is he making peace with God or is he thinking of the grief his loved ones were about to face head on?
The picture is controversial because some find it too disturbing or that remembering the attack might resurrect the fear and hatred that was directed toward Muslims in the aftermath. “It’s politically incorrect,” I heard someone say about the photo.
If I were the falling man, I would want people to remember me––to remember how I died and the choice I had to make, and most importantly, the monsters who forced me to make that decision.
As a Christian, I understand I’m supposed to forgive those who do evil, but I have limits. I will never forgive these men or anyone like them. I struggle with my belief sometimes when I wonder why God allows such people to exist.
Today some of our politicians want us to forget the Falling Man, maybe Facebook does too, it conflicts with there agenda.
I chose to remember.