Remembering 9/11

You can’t help but remember ten years ago this Sunday.  September 11.  Like most people, I can clearly recall the moment finding out and being glued to the TV for days afterward.  One moment sticks in my head, and is burned into the core of my being about that morning.  A classmate, who I had talked with everyday, in my college class, had a dad who worked there.  I didn’t know this but upon entering my 11am class, she looked at me smiled and said, “He called in sick today”.  I didn’t need to ask who, I didn’t need any further explanation.  I knew, we all knew that he was lucky.  The relief on her face, the smile that was able to be had, it is a bright spot in that horrible tragedy for me. 

Each year I anticipate a time where my children will ask about 9/11.  They will want to know what I was doing, how I felt, and all the details that I can recall.  I will tell them that I found out when my clock radio alarm went off, explain how horrific of an event it was and how the people around me were unified.  I will tell them that in such a momentous event, there was unity, love, and compassion that sprang forth.  The American Flag was flown from seemingly every spot available.  I will tell them that despite knowing no one involved, it changed me. 

My children are too young yet to understand.  I explained this morning in a simple 3 & 5 year old way while the news was on and they were curious.  Noelle asked, “How could someone do that?  How could they want to hurt people?”.  This question is very typical of her age, I can see her grasping at understanding empathy.  Max responded with a more typical 3 year old boy response of , “they need to go to jail”.  Later in the day he asked me, “When the buildings fell what happened to all the workers in there?”  I guess as they grow it will be simpler to explain to them.  For now, I do my best to give age appropriate answers while trying to instill that something we all want as parents, in them.  I want them to be compassionate, to love, and not judge others.  I want them to be kind and strong.  I want them to have clear and strong morals.  Values they are proud of.  I want it all for them. 

Ten years ago I didn’t have children.  I didn’t even really want children, maybe one.  Now I have four.  Four beautiful little souls that occupy my time and my everything.  I didn’t know what my future held, but I do remember thinking of my children and wanting them to understand the significance of that day.  I clearly remember wanting to bottle up the patriotism surrounding me and open it when they (actually he.  I wanted one little boy and that was it.  Things have changed) were old enough.  I wanted them to understand that we, as a nation, felt the pain even though most didn’t know anyone who specifically lost their lives.  Politics and most BS was pushed aside in the government, we were whole.  Strangers bonded, families made extra calls to each other, it was a unity completely indescribable.  They might not understand this, as I fully can’t convey it.  I will try.

Sunday I will again explain, in their age terms, what 9/11 means.  I will give a shortened version of my story.  They may be young still, but each year I will try and get them to comprehend this solemn day.  Now I will watch their interaction and enjoy their sweet innocence.  We will spend the day as a family, laughing, hugging, and loving each other as we always do.  The TV will be tuned in to the many magnificent documentaries and when they are in bed we will be glued to the stories and talk about it as man and wife.  Relive it moment we found out to each other again, and whole heartedly be dumbfounded at the Hero’s that came from the rumble of our beloved county.  I will pray for those lost and remember.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!