So it's September 11. Seven years since that awful day when America was attacked seemingly out of nowhere. I remember every detail of that day in my life. I don't know anyone personally who died that day, but I remember crying for each and every one of them. I remember feeling so overwhelmed with sadness and anger and rage and questioning what the hell was happening. I remember it all.
I remember wondering and worrying for hours until we realized my aunt, who was a flight attendant at the time, wasn't on one of those plans but was safely secure in a town in Illinois, or was it Indiana, it didn't matter. I remember telling her that if she wanted me to I would drive all day and night down there and bring her back to my house in Michigan so she'd have someplace safe to stay for a few days. She respectfully declined. I understood. Somehow it was just too much for all of us to take.
I remember being so thankful that my children were so young and wouldn't really understand what was happening. And being thankful that they were safely in the daycare center where the tv's weren't watching the news, but the radios were happily playing kid cd's so there weren't any public newsflashes for them to overhear. They wouldn't have understood anyway. Neither did I.
I remember being at work that evening and people were just quiet. Eerily quiet. The office was so quiet as we all did our jobs without excess talking, listening to talk on the radio instead of the Bee-Gee's and Barbra Striesand. Whispers even. Lots of whispers. Phone calls to companies we regularly did business with wouldn't go through, and then we'd realize it was a company near New York City, and we'd wonder what would happen. Would we get the product we ordered yesterday? Did it really matter? Who would really care? Why were we at work? We should be watching Peter Jennings explain this whole thing to us. Who did this? Why? How? What's going to happen next???
I remember the week after that in kind of a fog. I was alright, my kids were alright, and somehow we needed to keep moving. Soon it was the next day, and the next day, and the next week. Every day it was more normal. Sort of. But not really. It never would be a normal world again.
Now seven years have past. My kids are more grown up. They know what happened from the details they've read about or seen on tv, but they don't really get it. They didn't live it. Thank God. But we have all moved on. I still think about the families who lost people that day. I'm still sad for them. I know about loss, but somehow this is different.
But I love this country. I love our land of opportunity. I love raising my children to be free to speak their minds and disagree without fear of reprisal or persecution. I love the freedom to worship God in our own way. I love singing at the top of my lungs while driving down the road with the windows open. I love America. I love life, and I wish you all a Happy Patriot's day.
God Bless America.
10 years ago
1 comment:
Amen, sister. Amen.
I remember being on bedrest- feeling tied to a bed where the only thing I could do was watch. I saw the second plane hit- live. I heard the fear in the voices of the newscasters when they learned that ground control has two MORE planes out of contact. I heard the first reports when the plane hit the Pentagon and when the plane went down in PA. I couldn't bear to turn off the T.V., but it was eating me alive.
What's hardest is that I not only cried that day and in the days/weeks/months that followed, but I still cry when I think & talk about it. We are SO blessed not to have lost any family or close friends, but we all lost a lot that day.
Big hugs to my big sis. :hug:
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