September 11th

After returning home, we sat and relaxed in front of the TV. We watched a documentary on the first Fire Station on the scene of the World Trade Center Terrorist Attack. It was an interesting and intriguing story providing a different viewpoint from the day that I remember from here in Ohio five short years ago. It was touching to see the compassion, the efforts, the scene as it was unfolding and played out... even if it is now and was then, so heartbreaking to standby and watch.

I can remember that day so clearly in my mind. It was a gorgeous day, unlike any other. The bluest sky that I ever remember seeing, the warmth of the sunshine, the sounds of the birds singing in our own backyard as I went about my morning routine. I remember that I had put a roast in the crockpot to cook shortly after I had awoke and I was in the process of checking it when the first newsclip of the day occurred showing the image of the aircraft as it flew into the first of the Twin Towers. Startled by what I was hearing vs. actually seeing, I stood in disbelief, not really paying attention to what I was I was doing, but listening to the TV. Not believing what I was hearing, gripped by surprise and disbelief, I was jolted back to reality as I lifted the glass lid on the crockpot and a stream of hot escaping steam rose to burn my hand. I quickly went to take care of the injury and soon thereafter settled in front of the TV, watching as so many other Americans did, with tears streaming down my face as my heart lie breaking. I watched in horror as I saw those who jumped to their deaths vs. being consumed by the raging fires that consumed the towers. I sat motionless, entranced by the events as they unfolded, as first one tower collapsed, the the other. Continuing reports of two other hi-jacked aircrafts continued until one had reached the Pentagon and one was still in the air over Pennsylvania filled our living room and touched our souls a little deeper. It was like adding salt to already open and throbbing wound. I cried, I worried, and I prayed like I've never prayed before in my life.

The day unfolded, filled with disbelief, and a sense of what the hell is happening, and wondering when and if it would ever be over. I don't remember much more about day... like many I somehow got through it, numb and shocked and heartbroken. I do remember laying awake in bed that night, my hand covered in Silvadine soaked gauze, burning from the burn I had acquired by not paying attention, and feeling survivor's guilt as I thought about how I hurt and how I was being so selfish, when there were people laying trapped beneath the rubble of what once was --- burnt and broken with no way for anyone to even attempt to get to them. I fell asleep, with tears streaming down my face and prayers being offered up to God for each and every soul to keep.

The pain of September 11, 2001 still haunts me. The heartache and the grief. I still go through the process of grieving, feeling the depression, the anger, bargaining with my own thoughts, wondering why it all happened and even how God could allow it to happen in the first place. I tried deny it, not wanting to believe it was so, like a re-occuring nightmare that you cannot wake up from to finally being able to accept that it actually happened. It has been five years since that faithful day and I, like many other Americans, will never forget.

I don't attempt to understand it anymore, I don't question God, and I don't justify it with "what if's" and "what should have been's". I simply pray that no-one on the face of this earth should ever have to experience anything like it ever again regardless of their race, their religous beliefs, or the color of their skin. I pray for peace in a world filled with hated and violence. Some days, I even wonder if it helps, but I know somewhere in my heart that it does. As I remember the compassion of strangers, those who laid their own lives on the line to save so many other strangers who they would never know. I've seen the out-pouring of love, I've heard the compasion and witness the reaching out and helping hands as we each help one another cope with the aftermath and the remains of what once was. I remind myself of the person who I desire to be and to become and I strive for that within my own life. Each and every day gets a little bit easier to deal with, the heartache and the pain lessens, while the memory of it all lingers in my thoughts and in my prayers. And I celebrate, just as I cheered when the last plane plunged into the Pennsylvania ground, with mixed emotions, heartache, yet a sense of "It's finally over." Five years later, I wonder if it will ever truly be over. Yet, I continue to pray for a world filled with peace, where people agree to disagree without waging war on one anothers hearts, minds, and their souls. I imagine what that world would be like where everyone reaches out to ease the pain instead of inflicting it.