My post: The Day After

I thought about posting yesterday, and yet, it was so hard to know what to say without just rambling... and probably blubbering.  Ten years... it certainly doesn't seem so long.  And it's not like I've never been through other events in my life.  I was mere miles away when Columbine happened, just to name one.

The thing of it is, I'm not prone to the nostalgic hyper-reactionism that seems to plague this country, or at least plague most of the people I know.  Perhaps it's because of my own life--having been through so many rough, heart-breaking trials, my viewpoint is more "move on, look forward, stop crying about it."

But this, 9-11-2001, this was something so profound.  Something I hoped would never happen in my lifetime.  I think, before this, we Americans had kind of built up this fantasy that here, on our soil, we were entirely safe.  It is painful to have such an illusion shattered.

Not only was it profound for our country, but our own family... Daddy had just gotten through Navy training, we had just moved to our first duty station.  And the crazy thing was, he could have been, would have been in the Pentagon that day--right where the plane hit.  He had two duty stations to pick from: the Pentagon, where military careers can get kicked off, a dream assignment for any young man straight out of training; and a little-known Naval weapons base that handled top-secret new aircraft and missile equipment, but was located in the middle of the desert where nobody wanted to live.  He chose the latter because it was where his baby girl grew up, and he knew she missed her home.

Our second son was three months old.  He will forever count the years of his life and the anniversaries of the attack as the same.  I find that kind of crazy to think about.  Of course, none of our children really understand the importance of all of this, and that makes me a little glad, I think, because it means that their sense of security is more intact, more like ours used to be.

Not long after we watched the second plane hit, Daddy got a phone call.  We were still in temporary base housing, we were that new to our new home.  He had to scramble into his uniform and was immediately picked up by a colleague, and that was the last I saw of him for pretty much three days.  He was in and out a few times, darting in the door, interrupting the constant media coverage I had playing on the tv to grab some food or a shower, then leaving just as quickly: back to work, whatever it was they were doing out there on the flightline.  The base was closed, completely shut down, and there were MPs everywhere.  Daddy told me the first time he came back for food that we were on the top of the target list because of what our base did so I was not allowed to go outside or do anything, or even talk on the phone about where we were or what was going on around us.  By the third day, I began to get mad at the terrorists not only for their attack, but for taking away my husband and my own freedom!

Because of the attack, Daddy served all of his Naval service under a time of war, something we had no idea would happen when he signed up.  He was proud of his service, proud to go and serve in Afghanistan and represent his country, but I never had imagined that he'd be deployed in a war zone like that.  Never imagine I'd be on the phone with my husband, listening to things exploding in the background, or getting emails where he describes the daily memorials, another flag-draped coffin being sent back to the states.  Daddy, you're in the Navy, and you're a computer guy... it wasn't supposed to be like this!  Still, I'm proud of him.  He'll always be my sexy sailor, and my hero.

But out of all that, what I remember the most is this day, ten years ago.  9-12.  The day that our country got off its knees, shook off the shock, and growled.  The day that I was suddenly proud of everyone around me and realized that, under our selfishness, our silliness, all of our ridiculous faults, we loved each other and we really did love our country.  I didn't know that!  I've always been extremely patriotic, but it's never been something I've seen in the country at large.  Flags everywhere... people acting like everyone was their neighbor... I honestly couldn't believe it.  It felt so good to see everyone pull together like that.  Nobody even cared or remembered why they wanted to hate on each other any more.  I wish it didn't take a common, larger enemy to make people do that, but I guess it's human nature.  Too bad it didn't last nearly long enough...

I see 9-11 as a day of remembrance.  There were so many lives lost, so many tragedies, so many things changed that day.  The stand-out image in my head will always be the mass exodus of people that went across the bridge out of Manhattan.  All those people, like refugees, covered with ashes and dirt, walking together... out of New York.  My brother was in that mass of people.  He missed his bus to work that morning and had to wait for the next one.  The bus he missed went under one of the towers as it collapsed.  His very pregnant wife watched the collapse from their condo windows and couldn't get ahold of him for hours, not knowing.

The 12th, it is a day to celebrate love, togetherness, the human spirit.  And to remember that we have it inside of us, when push comes to shove, to band together and present ourselves to the world as one.  Not just my country, or any country, but we as people.  And that lesson is the one thing I choose to remember the most from the crazy tragedy that I saw ten years ago.