9/11

September 11 is always a very reflective day for me. Sure, 12 years later, life goes on fairly normally now. Some years, I try to ignore the day and forget it ever happened. Other years, I'm tuned into the coverage of the anniversary on TV for the whole week before. I watch every documentary that I've seen 100 times already. I focus on the minutes that each terrible thing happened, or how many lives changed at once. My obsession takes over my mind and I have trouble letting it go.

This year was a bit different. In 2001, I was a college sophomore. I was still at the age where I thought the world revolved around me. Now, I'm older (wiser? Ha.) and I find myself focusing more and more on my children. Yesterday, I posted this on Facebook:

One day, my kids will learn about this day in 2001 from a book in school. They will invariably ask me if I remember it. 

What will I say?

I'll tell them first about the horror of learning that one commercial airliner had crashed into the World Trade Center. I'll tell them I remember turning on the news while getting ready for class at Georgia Tech, and watching in growing panic as another plane crashed into the second tower on live television. I'll tell them that I remember my terrified mom telling me to "get in your car and come home. NOW!" because nowhere seemed safe, especially not a college campus 2 blocks away from Atlanta's tallest building. I remember the fear and the sense of absolute desperation as I blindly flipped from one radio station to another in the car on the 4+ hour ride home, not knowing which news was reliable or where the next attack was coming from. I'll tell them I remember feeling absolutely helpless and totally exposed. And then, as the day wore on and the true facts came out, I remember the dread. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The chills that randomly ran up and down my spine. The absolute sadness that engulfed us all - at the loss of life, at the sheer destruction, at the fact that our lives will never be the same again.

I will tell them that before this day in 2001, we could walk our loved ones straight to the gate at the airport. I will tell them that before this day, there was no TSA and no Terror Level Alert color. There was no American War on Terror, no war in Afghanistan, and no war in Iraq.

I will also tell them that after this day in 2001, I saw more American flags than I ever had. I will tell them that their country is a place to be proud of, to defend, to love, and to honor. I will tell them that this day in 2001 altered ALL of our lives, whether we were directly affected or just helpless bystanders watching it all unfold. I will tell them that this is a day that will live forever in our minds, in our hearts, and in our lives...and that we should never forget.

I got a lot of very heartfelt responses- obviously other people feel the same way. I'm glad I wrote it. One day, I will have to explain things to the kids. It's already started. Yesterday I went to pick Caroline up from a play day at our club, dragging Jack along with me. Management had set up giant American flags all along the pool fence - probably 20 flags. They were flapping gallantly in the breeze, framed by an electric blue sky that looked eerily similar to that in New York on 9/11/2001. I stopped for a minute.

Jack said, "Mommy, what are you doing?"
I said, "Well, we should stand here and have a moment of silence. On this day a bunch of years ago, some very bad men killed a lot of people who had done nothing wrong."
Jack said, "That's very mean. Why did they do that?"
I said, "Buddy, I really don't know. That's a good question."

His questions will get more complicated and my answers will get more in depth as he gets older. For now, at 4, this is enough.

Last night, somehow, I was the last one asleep in our house. I went and peeked in at every one of them in turn. Caroline was sprawled out in her crib. She had spit out her binky at some point and it had gotten tangled in her blonde curls. I gently took it out, and covered her with a blanket, smoothing her sweet flyaway hair down.

Jack was curled up in the fetal position, his pull-up clad butt sticking out of his blankets. His eyelashes...oh, his eyelashes. They took up half of his face. I traced his scar with my finger and brushed his hair off his forehead. I covered up his cute little bum.

Justin was passed out from a long week (weeks and weeks and weeks) of work. He was sleeping peacefully (loudly)...like I know he needs but he rarely gets. He works so hard for all of us. I gently patted his hair, placed my hand on his shoulder.

I can't imagine losing any of them. I can't imagine what people went through that day...or any of the days since. I don't know how people continue to move forward with life in any semblance of a normal fashion after that day. I can only remember it in my own way every year to honor their lost loved ones...and to be quietly thankful, every day, for my own beautiful family.