I Remember

I remember that morning.  It was a beautiful clear day.  The sun was shining.  It was warm.  I was sitting at my desk when my boss came out of his office and said “We are going to war”.  Everyone came out of their offices asking why and he told us that a plane crashed into one of the world trade center buildings or that a bomb had gone off.  Those details are hazy. 

I tried to get on the internet and bring up CNN, to see what I could find out.  I turned on my radio.  Then the plane flew into the second building.  And I sat there, not knowing what was going on, thanking God that my family was safe and my heart wringing itself over the families in pain and all of those souls gone in an instant. 

I remember trying to get in touch with someone and not being able to and hoping he hadn’t traveled to the city. 

I remember the feeling of helplessness and just sitting there, refreshing my screen, waiting for news sites to update, catching horrific stories of people trapped, of people jumping, of dust and smoke filled streets making the city change in an instant from life to some other-world that shouldn’t have been there. 

We worked the day as best we could.  When I got home I held my daughter, only eleven at the time, and tried to water down the details for her.  I didn’t want her to know evil, not yet, and I didn’t want her to be afraid of something she had no control over, like I was. 

In the face of great tragedy “I love you” is said easier, hugs are abundant, and people are more attuned to others’ pain.  In the days that followed tears flowed easy as news reports added more names to the list of those taken from us.  Tears flowed as others were rescued, though not nearly enough.  As dust cleared, a steel cross rose from the ashes as if by some miracle and brought some peace. 

As more details became known, tears and sorrow turned to anger and the country rallied.  It would not bring back the passengers and crew on that plane in Pennsylvania.  It wouldn’t bring back the victims in New York City.  It brought America together, united, at least for a while.  People were nicer, smiling, taking the time to say hello, how are you?, and actually listening to the answer.  Great tragedy brings people together before it tears them apart. 

I remember that morning, sitting at my desk, tears streaming down my face and thinking the world will never be the same again.  And it wasn’t.  It never was again.

A Week of Tragedies

            This week has been insane.  Starting last Friday, we learned of a kid in our 4H group that got in a horrible accident and is now in critical condition.  This kid is one of the sweetest little boys one could ever meet, with a natural curiosity about the world in which he lives.  He may never be able to move freely again, we just don’t know. We don’t know if there’s brain damage yet and not being part of the family we just have to wait and see what happens.  All we can do is pray and we definitely do that.  Whether it is to God, Allah or a tree, prayers are always welcome. 

 

            That’s the type of week it was – one of multiple prayers for multiple people.

 

            The next crazy thing that happened was Robin William’s committing suicide.  Why?  Why?  It was all I could hear and see from my friends, family, the internet – why would he do such a thing?  This remarkable man who could make us laugh and cry within the same frame in a movie.  What was so horrible that he couldn’t work through it?  And then the realization that we would never hear any new material from him, never see him act again or be on stage, watch him age and change his craft.  It was all so final.  The photo montages and the blogs offering up heartfelt and very real grief, experiences and remembrances – they were all beautiful. 

 

 

 

 

Then the really crazy thing – his daughter getting harassed on Twitter.  What is up with that?  Why are all the haters so quick to be ignorant when no one can see them?  What do they think they can accomplish?  All I can say is that their words don’t matter, Zelda, and you are way more than they will ever be.  My heart goes out to you and your family.  Losing a dad is one of the worst things you can go through and I still need and miss my dad after 10+ years.  Keep your memories – you don’t have to answer to anyone.  My condolences to you and your family, and the world on the loss of this caring, quixotic man.

 

            The last (I hope) crazy moment of the week would be the abduction of two Amish girls from my neighborhood.  The fear and the anger that someone would pluck two little girls from their farm stand still is unimaginable, even though it happened.  The searches, the helicopters flying overhead, seeing the dive teams heading out to look for a car or bodies, or both in the local swimming and boating areas was surreal.  Not letting a nine year old ride his bike around the block for fear of his disappearing, and having to explain why.  Innocence disappears quickly in the face of tragedy.  Prayers again were offered up for the safe return of these children, for the rescue workers and the police, for the news crews to be kind to the Amish community in their reporting.  When news came over the scanners that the girls were safe Facebook let the locals know before it hit the airwaves.  I was able to go upstairs, wake a little boy, and tell him the girls were ok, they were home with their family, safe and sound.  After a “Thank God” and a big hug both of us were able to finally sleep through the night for the first time in a week.