Lest We Forget

I turned on Local News 8 to check the weather so I knew what to dress Macady in. She was 18 months old, sleeping in her crib as I watched the second plane hit the WTC tower. I sat at the side of my bed with Pard at my feet and stared in stunned disbelief. It wasn’t possible. The news anchors were silent and I hurriedly scrambled for the remote to change the channel. All the channels were loaded with images of burning towers, screaming people, black smoke and streaming terror across the screen. My phone rang and I jumped out of my skin. My friend Mariah, herself with a baby girl just six weeks younger than mine, crying frantically and asking me, “Are you just holding your baby right now???” No, I thought to myself, she can’t wake up right now. I didn’t want her to wake up to this. I didn’t realize I was crying until I hung up the phone and tears dripped from my face. I sat, disbelieving the images that are forever burned into the American psyche. I spent the rest of the day at my mum’s house, TV on, babe in arms. I don’t think I put her down all day.

To this day, my stomach still lurches when I see the video footage. Tears fall unbidden when I hear the screams of New York. I choke when I see those poor souls hanging from the buildings, screaming for help that couldn’t come and jumping as their final resort. I keep September 11, 2001 in my thoughts and prayers. I pray for this country and for those lost to a war that seems never-ending. For the families who lost, who continue to lose. For soldiers who came home draped in a flag, and those who came home, but who aren’t really here. For those in charge of this country, that one day, the right decisions will be made. I pray for those children who are growing up with one or two fewer parents. For the search and rescue dogs that have, all but one remaining, died from cancer – inhaling the smoke and debris from the carnage as they worked through the months following. For those who went in to save lives and in turn, gave their own. For every person involved and affected by the attacks, they are never far from my thoughts.

I stand silent, hand over heart as the Flag is displayed, and cry shamelessly every time I hear our National Anthem. I want to thank every soldier and vet I’ve ever met, and those I haven’t. Except that pride and gratefulness aren’t enough and I don’t think they ever will be. So I simply promise that I will never forget. May God Bless America.