It's today. It was today. A flood of crystal clear memory has engulfed my senses from within, I'm back in 2001.

Two days ago I was telling the kids stories and it didn't register that the anniversary was so close. A small headline half-way down the screen caught my eye this morning. It was thirteen years ago. Three of my four little ones weren't even born yet.

The conversation started at the table with 'Tell me one thing about your day today'. It's part of our new end of day ritual we now call 'Smoothie Time'. Wyatt asked why the Japanese people who lived here were taken away to camps. I had to explain tragedy and war and how fear can make good people do bad things. We moved to the couch when they asked about Pearl Harbor and they wanted to see pictures. Google and I had a story to tell them.

My children and I were close on the couch, two on either side of me and one perched on the back. I told them the story of Pearl Harbor and then 9/11 when they saw one reporter mention that it was the 'greatest loss of life until 9/11'. The tragedy of war and life lost linking those two events across decades and the whole of the United States. We looked at photos and they peppered me with questions.

I told them about their great grandfather who fought in WW2 and was buried at the age of 77 with a rifle salute from former solders who were all grandfathers or great grandfathers themselves. I told them how I stood on the Pearl Harbor memorial looking down into the still water when I was only 7 years old. The white cement of the memorial felt rough on my palms  as I look down into the calm green water at the rust coated ship where so many died. I can still see my grandfather standing silent facing the wall of names.

This little girl remembered everything about Pearl Harbor for the next 30 years of her life. Hopefully she'll remember forever.

Laura and I standing on a rusted anchor.

Grandma and Grandpa Ashby on their visit to Hawaii with us.

I told them where I was on 9/11. I can still smell the ink from the silenced presses in the back hanging in the still air of the brake room.  Everyone was standing quiet, arms folded or fingers pressed to lips trying to hold ourselves together. We stared at the tiny television in the corner that September morning in disbelief as the towers came down. I can see my co-worker through the doorway pacing the long hallway as she held her phone to her ear trying to call her husband who had a meeting in the north tower that day.

Ivy asked about the people who died and why. Wyatt wanted to know when each event happened relative to others in the world timeline. Jax stared at the images soaking them in. We felt the presence of those stories thick in the room. We talked about family and country. For a few moments they sat silent as I wove new threads into the pattern of shared history tying them to their past.

Now I'm filled with gratitude and humility. The muck of everyday frustration is scoured away and I can only feel the absolute wonder at the exquisite reality of my life. A life so precious and full.