Everyone has defining moments in their life that help shape who they are, one of those defining moments is your birthday. Also known as the day you were born. Now, I was never one to be ashamed of telling everyone what my birthday was until I got to fourth grade. I guess it didn't really resonate in my head that people could be so upset on a day that was supposed to be about celebrating my coming into this world. However, as I grew older I learned very quickly that while I was celebrating my being in this world, millions of other people were mourning the deaths of loved ones.

I wasn't born on the exact day it happened but I was still here. It happened while I was at school, and then when I got home I was upset because I wasn't sure if I was going to get a birthday cake that year because all of the stores were closed that day. My family and grandparents still came over to celebrate but they said, and I quote, "it wasn't a happy day and it was hard to keep a smile on for you but we did."

Turns out my dad was in the city that day for work, and he ended up getting stuck in the city--missing his daughter's birthday. I don't know where he was if he was near where it happened or not but I don't ask those questions because it's not something he likes to talk about. My aunt, on the other hand, was working in the city at the time, in the tiny building that was in between the Twin Towers. It wasn't like today where you can just text your family that you're okay and not hurt. My family was on edge waiting to hear from both of them for hours.

Luckily, they both made it out fine, safe and unharmed, unlike others who weren't able to make it back to their families.

Living in New York my whole life with the fact that my birthday is September 11th was hard because every time someone would try and make conversation, I'd say my birthday and they would say something along the lines of, "Oh, I'm so sorry." I never know how to respond to that statement because first of all, there's really nothing to apologize to me for and second, if anything I feel as if I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm the person who is happy on one of the worst days, if not the worst day, in American history. I used to cry because what's the point of celebrating my birthday on that day? I'm just one person, and one person doesn't even begin to compare to the number of lives lost that day.

I pray for all the lives lost on that day and apologize for celebrating on a day that is tragic to so many people. And while it is a hard day for many people, I'm not ashamed to celebrate my birthday anymore because I've learned that anything can happen at any given time. No one ever knows when it's going to be the end; those people didn't know that going into work that day would be the last time they saw their families. The passengers on those flights boarded those planes without knowing that they would never reach their intended destination. But they are all remembered as heroes, and that is what I think of every year my birthday comes around. I don't think of the lives of victims lost as casualties from the attacks, I think of the people who were made heroes that day and will forever be remembered for it.