My brother's boss came into my house. Literally walked right into my house that morning, just like he owned the place. It was fairly early for such an intrusion, and not at all the usual. It was abrupt and abrasive, but he had his reason...
Turn on the TV!
What?!?
He didn't even slow down on his way to the TV, barely glancing in my direction. Just who's house was this, I paused to reflect, as I saw him turn on the tube.
I followed him down to the TV, down the five green-carpeted steps that led to our half basement. With the still-early light filtering in from the north-facing windows, set right at ground level and reflecting some of the green light back into our home, I stood riveted to what I was seeing.
The iconic twin towers were on fire.
The announcer was saying that someone had flown a plane into the building, still unsure if there was some mistake or some kind of wanton act of destruction. I was stunned.
Stunned.
It's the only word for it. Jeff (my brother's boss) stood next to me transfixed as we watched the smoke billowing, thick and black, from the building.
My first thought: that's pretty cool. Maybe it seems weird, but somehow the fact that a plane flew into a building, and the building withstood the assault, was intriguing to me. But hard on the heels of that thought was the idea...
Dear, merciful God in Heaven. There are people in that building.
As we watched, the camera jerked to tower two just in time to see an enormous fireball erupt from the side of the building, slowly and graciously making it's way into the crystal clear New York sky.
The world was never going to be the same.
I headed to class, driving to the University of Utah where I was enrolled, listening to the radio. I wanted to keep driving - to go to New York and do SOMETHING. I knew that was silly, but it was what I wanted to do. When I was about half way to school I heard that the buildings were coming down... That they both came down... There was no way to know at that point that many had escaped, that the death toll was not as high as we all feared it would be. We felt the loss of every single person, killed because they had shown up for work.
No one went to class.
Walking around campus, someone had set up radio listening stations, with the various news outlets broadcasting coverage of the events. I learned that the Pentagon had been attacked. That there was a plane missing somewhere over Pennsylvania. That all air traffic in the United States had been cancelled - and would stay cancelled for a while. Planes inbound from foreign countries were forced to land in neighboring countries, the passengers held up at various airports or trying to make their way home...
I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut.
I have never felt so utterly helpless, before or since. I am unprepared for this kind of violence, this kind of thinking - that it's OK to destroy one's self and untold countless others in the name of... what?... I still don't know.
In the decade that followed, much has changed. We are not who we were, both in positive ways as well as negative ways. We've been at war for much of that decade. We've seen Olympic games held. We've had amazing technological advances - things we almost surely never even considered ten years ago. We've seen dictators overthrown, some peacefully, many not. The economy has grown, then faltered, then, well, who knows?
My brother, the one who was living with me at that time, was sent to fight in Iraq - an outgrowth of the war on terror that began on September 11, 2001. He saw much and did much, defending US foreign policy. Others I know have been similarly affected. Still others had their loved ones offer the ultimate sacrifice.
Through it all, we persist. We breathe in and out every day, trying to do our best to overcome the world and it's effects. My daughter was born in 2002, a living testament to the resiliency and strength that exists in our country. She is a beautiful reminder of everything that is good and right and sacred - things that are the best aspects of our country, things worth fighting for, things worth dying for. And things worth living for.
In the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln:
It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Turn on the TV!
What?!?
He didn't even slow down on his way to the TV, barely glancing in my direction. Just who's house was this, I paused to reflect, as I saw him turn on the tube.
I followed him down to the TV, down the five green-carpeted steps that led to our half basement. With the still-early light filtering in from the north-facing windows, set right at ground level and reflecting some of the green light back into our home, I stood riveted to what I was seeing.
The iconic twin towers were on fire.
The announcer was saying that someone had flown a plane into the building, still unsure if there was some mistake or some kind of wanton act of destruction. I was stunned.
Stunned.
It's the only word for it. Jeff (my brother's boss) stood next to me transfixed as we watched the smoke billowing, thick and black, from the building.
My first thought: that's pretty cool. Maybe it seems weird, but somehow the fact that a plane flew into a building, and the building withstood the assault, was intriguing to me. But hard on the heels of that thought was the idea...
Dear, merciful God in Heaven. There are people in that building.
As we watched, the camera jerked to tower two just in time to see an enormous fireball erupt from the side of the building, slowly and graciously making it's way into the crystal clear New York sky.
The world was never going to be the same.
I headed to class, driving to the University of Utah where I was enrolled, listening to the radio. I wanted to keep driving - to go to New York and do SOMETHING. I knew that was silly, but it was what I wanted to do. When I was about half way to school I heard that the buildings were coming down... That they both came down... There was no way to know at that point that many had escaped, that the death toll was not as high as we all feared it would be. We felt the loss of every single person, killed because they had shown up for work.
No one went to class.
Walking around campus, someone had set up radio listening stations, with the various news outlets broadcasting coverage of the events. I learned that the Pentagon had been attacked. That there was a plane missing somewhere over Pennsylvania. That all air traffic in the United States had been cancelled - and would stay cancelled for a while. Planes inbound from foreign countries were forced to land in neighboring countries, the passengers held up at various airports or trying to make their way home...
I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut.
I have never felt so utterly helpless, before or since. I am unprepared for this kind of violence, this kind of thinking - that it's OK to destroy one's self and untold countless others in the name of... what?... I still don't know.
In the decade that followed, much has changed. We are not who we were, both in positive ways as well as negative ways. We've been at war for much of that decade. We've seen Olympic games held. We've had amazing technological advances - things we almost surely never even considered ten years ago. We've seen dictators overthrown, some peacefully, many not. The economy has grown, then faltered, then, well, who knows?
My brother, the one who was living with me at that time, was sent to fight in Iraq - an outgrowth of the war on terror that began on September 11, 2001. He saw much and did much, defending US foreign policy. Others I know have been similarly affected. Still others had their loved ones offer the ultimate sacrifice.
Through it all, we persist. We breathe in and out every day, trying to do our best to overcome the world and it's effects. My daughter was born in 2002, a living testament to the resiliency and strength that exists in our country. She is a beautiful reminder of everything that is good and right and sacred - things that are the best aspects of our country, things worth fighting for, things worth dying for. And things worth living for.
In the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln:
It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
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