My blog almost exclusively focuses on health issues, but from time to time I feel compelled to write about something unrelated. And the 9th anniversary of September 11th is one of those topics.

A few days ago, my husband suggested we plan a trip to Orlando this weekend, a quick visit to the Magic Kingdom with the kids (we live 3 hours away by car). I figured we could all use a weekend away from it all (i.e. my computer, which lately I’ve been tethered to), so of course I agreed. He booked the trip, and then I saw the date: We would be in Disney World, waiting in line for  It’s a Small World or the Peter Pan ride,  on the anniversary of the most horrific day I’ve ever lived through (let alone what our country lived through).

Nine years ago, my husband and I were living in New York City. While the whole world watched in horror, we were front-and-center, witnessing the day unfold, seeing an entire city transform from the thrilling hustle-and-bustle to confusion and chaos. My husband saw the second plane hit—he was about 20 blocks away—and caught one of the last taxis headed uptown. We saw hordes of working men and women, walking miles home once the transportation system shut down. We volunteered at the Red Cross; we desperately tried to reach friends and family; we froze every time we heard a siren or saw a fire truck drive by (a visceral reaction which lasted for years). We thanked God every time we realized our friends were ok; but our hearts broke for the loved ones of those who were still missing. And even though I’m a writer, I don’t think I could ever fully explain what it was like when we went to our rooftop in midtown and someone told us that the towers had just collapsed, leaving a blanket of ash and smoke and a smell that permeated the city for weeks. There are no words.

For years, on the anniversary, I’d relive the day by watching hours upon hours of footage, documentaries, and news reports on CNN. I’d watch the memorial services. I’d even go on YouTube, trying to find media coverage from that day years ago. I’m not really sure why, but it was almost comforting and cathartic for me. So, of course, I had major reservations when I realized that we’d not only be away this year on September 11th, but we’d be in a literal fantasyland, so far removed from reality.

But then it hit me. It really doesn’t matter where I am each year on September 11th.  And I don’t need the anniversary to remind me of it…..I think about that day many times throughout the year. We’re always sharing our “where were you on that day” story with other former New Yorkers. It’s almost like an unspoken camradarie; we watched a war unfold in our urban backyard, and that experience has become a part of us in ways we could never explain.

So, this year I won’t be glued to CNN 24-7. Instead, I’ll be enjoying time with my family, watching my young children laugh and scream delight in the land of magic and make believe. And though I will still be thinking of the events that unfolded nearly a decade ago and honoring the victims in my own way, I’ll also be celebrating our survival by relishing every minute with the people I love most. I don’t need the anniversary to remember. I’ll never forget.

**After writing this post, I actually had to cancel my trip to Orlando. My dog, Baxter, had to have a last-minute surgery so we’ll be home all weekend, and I’m too emotionally and physically exhausted to rewrite my whole entry. But I’m still going to try and focus my energy on my family (including little Baxter, of course.) Though I’m sure once everyone is in bed at night, I’ll be up by myself, glued to every memorial segment I can find.