The years passed and two jobs later, I started to travel more for work. And curse the restrictions to take off my shoes, that make carry-on a total pain in the ass and generally make air travel suck. Now, it's rote, I know what to expect, and I've got it down to a science.
The years passed and we finally had a baby that we needed to put into daycare. I struggled with the uneasiness of the location I chose based on the proximity to our house and the fact that I get a sizeable discount because of the type of job I have. But, the risk is so low of something bad happening, especially with the security in place at the location that I squashed it down.
The years passed and occasionally I have mini-freakouts because I work on the 11th floor of a secure building. Somehow, having all this security doesn't make me feel better all the time.
The years passed, and on the 12th anniversary of the attacks, I turned on the tv, which had been left on the History Channel. For an hour and a half, I watched archival footage from that day. Fear, confusion, disbelief, the mess of dust and debris as the towers each fell.
When I dropped of Baby X this morning, the pang of uneasiness had returned. There's several reasons why Baby X is not in daycare near my place of work. One of them that I have not voiced often because it sounds paranoid, is that if something were to happen at this location, I would not want him anywhere near it. But, if something happens in his location, would I ever forgive myself for wanting to save a buck?
The paranoia will fade. But it will never go away.