Part of a series in tribute to the 10th anniversary of 9/11

As a writer, I am guilty of noticing metaphors, which is just an extension of the same thing, only with more thought attached. I'm not claiming that all of those thoughts are intelligent, but they are certainly more intense. I find that sometimes, symbolism is just too coincidental to ignore. I think about patterns and the odds of things happening. I marvel at how obvious it can sometimes be, and I wonder what it all means.
I was born on the 11th day of September in 1953.
On that same day in history in —
1297 - William Wallace defeated the British in the Battle of Stirling Bridge
1609 – Henry Hudson discovers Manhattan
1792 – The Hope Diamond is stolen
1943 – The liquidation of the Jews began in Minsk & Lida by the Nazis
1944 – The first Allied troops of the U.S. Army cross the western border of Germany.
1985 – Pete Rose breaks Ty Cobb's record for most career hits with his 4,192nd hit
See a pattern? Me neither. What about people born on the same day?
1885 – D. H. Lawrence, English novelist
1913 - Bear Bryant
1935 - Arvo Pärt
1940 - Brian De Palma
1977 - Ludacris
Nope. Nada. I bear little or no resemblance to anyone on that list.

That day began a transformation of our culture in much the same way that my husband's death set off the most profound transformation of my life in 1988.
I never envisioned writing a book about grief. Like most people, I avoided the subject at all costs and steered clear of anyone on such a 'downer.'