I remember I was sitting at a desk between Megan Whitehead and Dacinda Musgrove in Mr. Bucher's web design class my senior year of high school. Another teacher quickly and quietly came in and just turned on the TV. We sat. We watched. The first tower had already been hit. My first thoughts were, like many, that it was a horrific accident. As we watched the second hit, a lump formed in my throat and my heart sank. It was too horrible to watch but I couldn't so much as blink. I remember Megan crying. I remember not being able to. I remember telling her we were
just there. We talked about irrelevant things like that we were glad we got a picture of the buildings.
The next few hours are foggy. Then we left for a tennis tournament in El Dorado. Honestly, I don't really remember the ride up. I suppose we talked about it. We were probably buzzing about what we thought happened and why and what was next and how sad it was and the death toll. We probably got fired up about war and the gruesome images we saw all morning. I remember the tournament was a tri and that I lost every single match. That's when I realized it affected me more than I originally thought. That's when I remember feeling the weakest, the most drained, the most hurt.
I remember listening to the radio on the way home and watching more news once I got there. If I wasn't before, I'd become a news junkie then.
I remember all the flags and the feeling of unity and the way we all helped each other out. I remember a few months later when my buddy Chris called to say he was joining the Marines. I cried then. I remember Dad calling me on the first anniversary to see if I was doing ok. I remember knowing the feelings about that day would never really go away.
Today, I look at pictures and I watch the news coverage and I read the stories of survival, of death, of heroism, and of perseverance. I think of all those on the planes and the fear they must have felt. I wonder if God's peace came over them and if so, what that felt like. I think about the hijackers and what it must take to do such a thing. I wonder if they were scared, if they felt noble, or if they even had any feelings at all. I think of those in the buildings when the planes hit. I wonder how it must of looked, sounded, smelled, and felt in there. I wonder what made people jump. I think of all those who lost their lives and all those who have to live with the fact that they weren't one of them but easily could have been. I think of the brave ones who went in to rescue, who handed out wet towels, who carried people away. The fire fighters, police, nurses, doctors, preachers, "everyday" citizens who stood up to make a difference. I wonder how scary it must have been to run from the debris cloud and not even know what was going on. I think of those babies who were born shortly after and don't even have so much as a picture with their dad, I think of the spouses and families left behind, and I think about those who've had to deal with PTSD, cancer, addictions, depression, and fear ever since.
Today, I look at the pictures of the new memorial - fountains - and I remember how far we've come and how far we have to go. I know that there's been threats made for an anniversary attack. I've checked the news off an on just to make sure it hasn't come true. I wonder what the rest of the day will hold... what the years ahead will hold. I wonder how many more tragedies I'll have to remember.
I remember that day and I always will. We all will. I hate that we have to.
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