10 years…

I’ve no desire to watch the 9/11 ten year anniversary events. I lived not far from Washington, DC, slightly closer than now on that day, and I will never forget how the world changed, suddenly, horrifically. Home sick, phone call from husband saying a plane has hit the World Trade Center. Turn on the TV and sit there watching, stunned. The plane hits the Pentagon. Lots of sirens. Call my mom in Massachusetts, who has already left me a message on my office voice mail. Call my boss. They are all okay but in shock, not really doing any work and can’t go home because roads are shut down and the area is gridlocked. Call my friend in DC, who has just started graduate school, is home alone, and doesn’t have a TV, only internet. Call my friend in Pennsylvania because I have no idea where she is in relation to Shanksville. Check in with other friends, realize none of us knows where exactly our friend in New York works, only that she’s at a bank downtown. Watch the towers fall. Cry when my husband gets home from work later that night, in time to watch another newscast and see the replay of the plane hit the tower yet again, and think about how many husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, friends, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers never make it home that day. Relief the next day when we hear from NY friend that she’s safe. Sadness as the days pass and we realize there will be no survivors. A struggle to return to “normal” because normal no longer seems to exist.

I’ve seen it, lived it, been forever altered by what happened that day. Someday my daughter, now three, will read about what happened in a textbook. She’ll never really understand. At the time I didn’t understand the reactions of my friends who were parents because they seemed so unaffected. I know that wasn’t true—they were just being strong for their kids. Now I get that.

So instead of watching the footage that has been burned into my soul, I’d rather watch a giggling three-year-old spin around in her new sparkly red shoes. Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll be crying. This is the kind of hope and joy we need to hold onto. Ten years, twenty years, it doesn’t matter. We will never forget.

About Cindy Young-Turner

Hippie chick who is still hoping to change the world someday. Author of the fantasy novel, Thief of Hope.
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3 Responses to 10 years…

  1. M. L. Doyle says:

    Nice post Cindy!

    In the military, when we think of targets of war, we consider what will be the second and third order of effects beyond that one thing blowing up or being destroyed. I wonder if the terrorists took that level of consideration in mind when they selected their targets.

    I can’t watch the memorials anymore. I can’t hear the stories anymore. I can’t believe it has been ten years. I simply can’t go back there.
    For those of us associated with the military, 9/11 isn’t something that happened ten years ago. It is something that continues. It’s not the past. It is the present. I don’t want to remember because I don’t have to. We see men and women leaving and coming home every day. Some to return to their families, others return after making the ultimate sacrifice.

    What has struck me the most and hardest about all of the so called remembrances, is that few have acknowledged the continued involvement of our military in this ongoing struggle. Nor have they acknowledged that, while every American remembers 9/11, few have answered the call to serve by taking up arms to defend us.

    What we should remember is the men and women in uniform serving around the world who have helped prevent another 9/11 from happening. We are safe because they serve.

    • Thanks, Mary. I totally agree. It’s horrible that so many civilians died, but Iraq and Afghanistan have fallen off the radar and people probably don’t think about the men and women who are putting their lives on the line every day. I may not agree with everything that’s happened over there, but I fully support our troops and appreciate their sacrifice. “We are safe because they serve” is a great sentiment. I hope they all come home safely.

  2. Pingback: 15 years… | Cindy Young-Turner

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