By NICOLE CARTRETTE

It’s been five years and although I was interning for a congressman on Capitol Hill that fall, I don’t remember a lot of things about Sept. 11, 2001.

I don’t know exactly what time it was that I arrived at the office that morning or what time we left, nor can I tell you how many blocks we ran or even what our destination was.

I don’t know the name of the little French café I had lunch at with the rest of the staff, but I do remember eating what could have been our last lunch like it wasn’t.

I can’t say that I remember what we said after the towers fell and part of the Pentagon burned, but I can say that it was hard to say anything at all. I don’t remember how many there were, but I can’t forget the sound of fighter jets zipping about low in the sky and wailing sirens coming from every direction as thousands of people scrambled about the streets.

I can’t count the number of strangers I talked to that day, but I do remember talking to them like I had known them all of my life. I may not remember exactly how I found a cab in the chaos or how long the trip to my apartment was, but I do remember talking to my taxi driver like he wasn’t just a taxi driver I would meet once and never see again. It suddenly seemed to matter that his name was Mr. Saye, that he grew up in Chicago and had been driving a cab for more than 20 years.

I don’t recall every detail of each rumor or how we separated them from the truth, but I do remember how beautiful a baby grand piano sounds rendering Amazing Grace. Our chief of staff had not played the piano in decades until that day –we didn’t even know he could.

I can’t count the phone calls I received from people I knew and used to know on that very day, but I do remember the endless conversations that would follow in days to come and how thankful I was to have an opportunity to say what needed to be said.

I don’t remember ever wanting to come home, but I do remember arguing with my parents so I could stay. I don’t remember how I convinced them life had to go on, but I do remember the thought of just giving up and leaving made me feel like I was only letting the terrorists win.

I don’t know a single person who died that day but I do remember the shock, disbelief and emptiness I felt when the faces of victims flashed across the television screen.

I can’t describe the intense fire’s heat or the way the thick smoke stole victims’ breath, but I will always remember the unbearable sight of billowing smoke and uncontrollable flames.

I don’t remember if I shed one or a thousand tears, but I do remember hurting for those who lost loved ones and feeling they were the ones who truly deserved to cry.

There is a lot I don’t remember about 9/11, but there is so much more we can’t forget.