soonerloyal
9/11/2012, 07:15 AM
Although some of my viewpoints have changed over the years, I still feel this day every year is an anniversary that passes our usual clashes - or should. Hopefully no need to move this post...it should be in the right place.
REMEMBERING...
On September 11, 2001 - My oldest Marine was in boot, four days away from his 21st birthday. I remember that morning, watching the coverage of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon being hit, how I'd sent him off to San Diego, a month or so before. How I got to stay with him all the way to the gate, as the recruits boarded the plane. How I smiled and waved until he disappeared from sight, and they closed the gate - and how I cried only then. I watched their plane slowly pull away from the gate, roll slowly down its path to the runway, where it picked up speed and lifted them off to their future. I remember thinking, "Lord, bless the pilot as he carries these young men." I wrote in my journal later that I wondered if he knew how special his cargo was, and how important they were to not only their families, but to our country.
I cried again on September 11th, for so many reasons more.
I thought again of my son and his choice of which I was so proud. Knowing what this attack would mean for all those recruits struggling to become Marines. And I mourned for what we had lost that day, and what we were sure to lose as the days stretched out over an uncertain future.
I watched the newscasters falter as they recounted the first tower collapse, then the second. I stood rooted to the screen as the reality of the loss of life washed over not just me, but every decent human heart who stood watching as well. And as the minutes turned to hours, the pain did not diminish, but was partnered by an anger that burned so strong, I wondered if I would survive the flames. I watched the brave men and women who had gone into those towers to save whoever they could find, bleed slowly out of the rubble and into their own lost realm, as they (and we all) realized that many of their brothers were still inside the ashes and twisted steel. Many of them - and those they fought to rescue - would never be found. I'd always admired the brave souls who ran into infernos while others around them ran out. That day, I was reminded why in a big way. Little did I know that less than a year later, my second son would emulate not only his brother, but also follow the path of the rescuers he watched that day. He became a Marine - and a firefighter as well.
A friend of mine called that horrible morning, asking "Are you watching this?" How could I not be watching? A citizen of another country, she had an opinion that shocked me to the core: "I'm very sorry this happened, but now you Americans know how the rest of the world feels when they've dealt with terror. Welcome to reality. You aren't untouchable." Dear God, no, we are not.
In the wee hours of September 12th, I sat with shaking hands in front of my computer, writing my son another birthday message. I'd written him the week before, a happy message celebrating his coming of age, his benchmark birthday. I remember I'd decorated it with poorly-drawn balloons & a cake, and a crude sketch of a mama kissing her boy's scrunched-up and blushing face. The paper I'd loaded into the printer just now was already blotched with tear stains. What a different letter this was going to be. I still have a copy of it; so does my son - along with every letter I wrote to him while he was in boot. They're in the same cedar chest that holds the Daily Oklahomans covering the Murrah Building bombing and September 11th. Reminders of what I hope is the final wake-up call we'll need, for so many reasons.
The trip to see my oldest son receive his Eagle Globe and Anchor was markedly different from the last time I'd been to the airport in OKC only three months before. Gone were the welcoming gestures from smiling security personnel, offering me the chance to go beyond the boundaries. My trek was directed by tight-lipped men in uniform, curtailed from Point A to Point B with no allowance for deviation. I didn't bat an eye when I landed at San Diego, and N.G.'s were the order of the day, complete with M-16s, wearing camo and nervous frowns. For many, it was comforting and brought on anger at the same time. My fellow passengers and I remarked at how different flights were now, and how grateful were were for it. I couldn't help but wonder what might have been different if we'd shown more vigilance and wisdom, "before".
Both my Marines tell me that the other is his "hero". The younger admires the first for answering the call of his country prior to 9/11/01, "before" he was needed so much. The older says there's more courage and commitment in the choice of his little brother to answer when he knew much more clearly what that answer might mean - "after". I don't have to tell you who two of my heroes are, do I?
Before. And After. Two words make such a difference in the annals of our country's history, do they not?
Those sons of bitches brought down more than buildings and planes that fateful day. They brought down the blinders too many people had on, shielding their eyes and senses from knowing that Evil is a presence to be reckoned with in our own midst; nor is Evil just foreign-born. What every one of us does, every decision we make - as individuals and as a whole - impacts the world in ways we cannot understand. It's been said America lost her innocence again that day; I agree. But I say we gained an eagle eye of truth, insight and opportunity - what we do with it now remains to be seen.
I'll add two more words that have echoed from the hearts of Americans living and dead for the last 11 years since. I want you to hold them with the same reverence I do, say them and mean them...
NEVER FORGET.
--- Lori H.
REMEMBERING...
On September 11, 2001 - My oldest Marine was in boot, four days away from his 21st birthday. I remember that morning, watching the coverage of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon being hit, how I'd sent him off to San Diego, a month or so before. How I got to stay with him all the way to the gate, as the recruits boarded the plane. How I smiled and waved until he disappeared from sight, and they closed the gate - and how I cried only then. I watched their plane slowly pull away from the gate, roll slowly down its path to the runway, where it picked up speed and lifted them off to their future. I remember thinking, "Lord, bless the pilot as he carries these young men." I wrote in my journal later that I wondered if he knew how special his cargo was, and how important they were to not only their families, but to our country.
I cried again on September 11th, for so many reasons more.
I thought again of my son and his choice of which I was so proud. Knowing what this attack would mean for all those recruits struggling to become Marines. And I mourned for what we had lost that day, and what we were sure to lose as the days stretched out over an uncertain future.
I watched the newscasters falter as they recounted the first tower collapse, then the second. I stood rooted to the screen as the reality of the loss of life washed over not just me, but every decent human heart who stood watching as well. And as the minutes turned to hours, the pain did not diminish, but was partnered by an anger that burned so strong, I wondered if I would survive the flames. I watched the brave men and women who had gone into those towers to save whoever they could find, bleed slowly out of the rubble and into their own lost realm, as they (and we all) realized that many of their brothers were still inside the ashes and twisted steel. Many of them - and those they fought to rescue - would never be found. I'd always admired the brave souls who ran into infernos while others around them ran out. That day, I was reminded why in a big way. Little did I know that less than a year later, my second son would emulate not only his brother, but also follow the path of the rescuers he watched that day. He became a Marine - and a firefighter as well.
A friend of mine called that horrible morning, asking "Are you watching this?" How could I not be watching? A citizen of another country, she had an opinion that shocked me to the core: "I'm very sorry this happened, but now you Americans know how the rest of the world feels when they've dealt with terror. Welcome to reality. You aren't untouchable." Dear God, no, we are not.
In the wee hours of September 12th, I sat with shaking hands in front of my computer, writing my son another birthday message. I'd written him the week before, a happy message celebrating his coming of age, his benchmark birthday. I remember I'd decorated it with poorly-drawn balloons & a cake, and a crude sketch of a mama kissing her boy's scrunched-up and blushing face. The paper I'd loaded into the printer just now was already blotched with tear stains. What a different letter this was going to be. I still have a copy of it; so does my son - along with every letter I wrote to him while he was in boot. They're in the same cedar chest that holds the Daily Oklahomans covering the Murrah Building bombing and September 11th. Reminders of what I hope is the final wake-up call we'll need, for so many reasons.
The trip to see my oldest son receive his Eagle Globe and Anchor was markedly different from the last time I'd been to the airport in OKC only three months before. Gone were the welcoming gestures from smiling security personnel, offering me the chance to go beyond the boundaries. My trek was directed by tight-lipped men in uniform, curtailed from Point A to Point B with no allowance for deviation. I didn't bat an eye when I landed at San Diego, and N.G.'s were the order of the day, complete with M-16s, wearing camo and nervous frowns. For many, it was comforting and brought on anger at the same time. My fellow passengers and I remarked at how different flights were now, and how grateful were were for it. I couldn't help but wonder what might have been different if we'd shown more vigilance and wisdom, "before".
Both my Marines tell me that the other is his "hero". The younger admires the first for answering the call of his country prior to 9/11/01, "before" he was needed so much. The older says there's more courage and commitment in the choice of his little brother to answer when he knew much more clearly what that answer might mean - "after". I don't have to tell you who two of my heroes are, do I?
Before. And After. Two words make such a difference in the annals of our country's history, do they not?
Those sons of bitches brought down more than buildings and planes that fateful day. They brought down the blinders too many people had on, shielding their eyes and senses from knowing that Evil is a presence to be reckoned with in our own midst; nor is Evil just foreign-born. What every one of us does, every decision we make - as individuals and as a whole - impacts the world in ways we cannot understand. It's been said America lost her innocence again that day; I agree. But I say we gained an eagle eye of truth, insight and opportunity - what we do with it now remains to be seen.
I'll add two more words that have echoed from the hearts of Americans living and dead for the last 11 years since. I want you to hold them with the same reverence I do, say them and mean them...
NEVER FORGET.
--- Lori H.