to absent friends

8 years ago this lunchtime I was in a small cafe in the mountains of Gran Canaria, my meal forgotten as I watched the tiny television in the cool bar, a welcome contrast from the hot and dusty and arid scenery outside. As we sat there, desperately trying to work out what was happening as we spoke next to no Spanish, we watched the second plane hit the second tower. Earlier that morning I had bought a straw bag from a roadside stand. That evening I sat in my hotel room drinking lipton tea and watching BBC News 24, the world as I knew it having changed forever.

This lunchtime I was sat outside in a deckchair, eating my lunch, when I had a sudden urge to turn on the television. I trotted inside, found BBC News 24 and as I sat down on the sofa the bell rang for the first of four minutes silence, the time of the first plane hitting the first tower. As the second moment of silence was kept I suddenly could see in my mind's eye that day in Gran Canaria, 8 years earlier.

I didn't know anyone who lost anyone on 9/11. But even so, as I listened to the list of names being read out, I felt tears on my cheeks as I remembered my own list of people I have lost.

The fourth speech at our wedding was spoken by M's father. It was short and to the point:

"to absent friends".