With family in town for several days, we took a little road trip out to the rural-most parts of Pennsylvania on Sunday afternoon, to pay our respects at the Flight 93 National Memorial.
It was my second time visiting, but the first for the rest of the family. Two things struck me this time: the hot wind blowing over the hills from whence the plane came on its fated path, and the particular mementos that were left tucked in the overhead compartment-like shelf overlooking the final crash sight.
Wristbands. Flowers. Coins (for In God We Trust?)
And these, stories left behind with them all.
The most poignant one, to me:
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