Have you ever been on the brink of disaster? Or, has the threat turned real; has the doom struck; has despair thrust your gaze into the abyss? Has darkness drawn you to it? Or—has it overwhelmed you?

On this date in our Human History, it has been 10 years since one terrible day. It is a time to reflect upon much.

No life evades darkness. As sure as sunset, there will be sadness. I finished writing the pages of Bentari many years before we learned about the bleak times that would descend upon us 10 years ago. But my story is about a tragic event and a people’s response. Here is one passage that captures the depth of darkness that faced young Bentari. He is in the catacomb like volcanic vents beneath an ancient caldera. Except for the increasing light from his pursuers’ torch, he is lost in utter darkness. From chapter 23 “What Passes Down”:

“Bentari scooted and crawled along. The tunnel’s trail carried him down, lower, deeper. Soon the sounds of the men scuffling after him reached his ears, but he dared not hurry. He knew that one step made in careless haste might have more dire results than even if Heimhalter should catch him. He knew the danger. He had seen the drop-offs in the flashlight beams along their entrance into this underworld. These chasms made one ponder more than a turned ankle. Life could come to swift conclusion with one wrong step. When he came to the sudden drop, his cautious toes hung over the path’s edge. Bentari tried hurriedly to determine the depth of this break in the trail. He lay down upon the trail and reached down and outward with first his arms and then his legs, but he felt nothing. Crouching on the edge, he dropped a chip of rock and listened. He was fascinated by the time it took before he heard the slightest distant ticking sounds from far below. It seemed like minutes. Had the pebble struck bottom even after its long fall, or was it ricocheting from the chasm’s wall as it continued its endless descent? Behind him he heard pursuers. Before him, emptiness stood like a solid wall.”

In 1937, a broadcaster watched the zeppelin Hindenburg crash into flames and he uttered with a quavering voice, “Oh, the humanity!” Ten years ago, we watched two towers crash in flames while our hearts were stopped. We have seen or lived through or been swamped by the bad times. We will not forget. Yet, while we remember, let us focus, like the little boy in my story, upon the way out. May we live to celebrate instead of mourn. May we live to lift our united voices in praise and honor: “Oh, the humanity!”