A day late

For some reason I simply could not bring myself to write a post about 9/11 on 9/11. I guess there was just something about yesterday that told me I should let it be. Not today though.

I can almost guarantee that everyone over the age of 10 remembers what they were doing that fateful day. Since we live on the West coast it was fairly early in the morning when the first plane hit. I am not, have never been, and will likely never be a morning person. I was in my Senior year of High school and throughout my high school career had figured out exactly what time I needed to get up to hurriedly get ready for school and make it to class by the second bell. Yes, the second bell, not the first bell. My mom woke me up way too early because she told me I needed to come watch the news. Most mornings I would have simply rolled over and gone back to sleep, but for some reason, that morning I got right out of bed.

Just like everyone else, we were watching the footage of the first plane hitting over and over and the newscasters were speculating about what could have gone wrong and how many people were hurt or killed. All of a sudden, on live TV, a second plane hit. At that moment you could almost hear the whole country gasp in shock. It is amazing that you have no idea what is going on but your gut feeling tells you it is just not good.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a world without gangs or bar fights. I grew up in a world of relative peace, and for that I can thank my parents. I knew what terrorism was from school books and the news. I always thought that terrorism was driven by some kook who had an agenda and thought that the only way they could get people to listen was to do something crazy. I still think I am not far from the truth. Even me in all my innocence knew what was going on that day.

I watched TV until I needed to leave for school, listened to the radio the whole way in, and when I got to school every TV in every classroom was following the story. I had Dr Crowder that morning and we were supposed to have a test (if I remember correctly). We watched the news instead and talked about our views of what was going on.

Just because we were thousands of miles away from Ground Zero does not mean we felt the shock or pain any less. Most of us did not have family members who were in New York, but we knew that a lot of people in the country did. We, just like the rest of the country, felt a great sense of helplessness.

I will never forget that day, even though its affect on my life was not nearly as personal as the pregnant women who lost their husbands that day, or those babies who were born into life without fathers. It was not as personal as a mother in the Midwest receiving the dreaded call that her beloved son or daughter had been found but had not been found alive. It was not as personal as the many firefighters and police officers and volunteers who spent weeks searching through the rubble, knowing that there was no hope for those still trapped inside the wreckage. My heart still goes out to all of those whose lives were personally affected by the senseless act of a bunch of kooks. I sit here and look at my son and am so thankful that his Daddy comes home and hugs him every single day. I feel the movement of a sweet new life in my belly and am thankful that his or her Daddy will hold them moments after birth. I am thankful that my Mom never got a phone call like that. I am thankful.

May God bless America.