There are days that mark moments in time, days that people recall exactly what they were wearing, where they were, and what they were doing when they heard or witnessed the “moment” for themselves.
The day Kennedy was shot.
The day Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated.
The day the planes hit the twin towers.
Images of that morning, already fifteen years ago, readily come to mind every single time I hear, or say the date, September 11th.
I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like for those who are directly linked to the horrors of that day. The children who have grown up with only one half of themselves alive to raise them. Spouses/partners who lost their best friends, their lovers, and their futures. Parents who lost their children, and their joys. The first responders who gave their lives in the hopes of saving the lives of people they didn’t even know.
The ripple effect of something like 911, is like casting a stone into the ocean, there is the core of the impact, and then there are all the rings that come after it. This is true of something like 911, and every terrorist attack since.
To me, what I remember most about September 11th, is the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. And sadly, I am not wrong. Terror attacks seem to be a normal, regular occurrence of our daily lives. Tragedy. Violence. Death at the hands of “terror” splashed across news outlets every single day. Death by handguns in the U.S, bombings in Syria, Iraq, Turkey…the list goes on, and on, and on…people being murdered while out living their normal every day lives…
It breaks my heart. It makes me long for a pre-September 11th world, where these sort of news stories were incredibly rare.
We, as a family had our own brush with terrorism back in November 2015. Our youngest was in Paris with a group of girlfriends in her Lausanee school program. They were staying at a Best Western on a weekend trip; we had such confidence in our ability to reach her anytime, day or night, on her cell phone that not once, when she went on a weekend jaunt, which was every weekend, did we think to ask her “what hotel” or “can we have a phone number, and room number.” Then the Paris attacks happened, and we couldn’t find her for just over two hours. They were the longest, most horrifying two hours of our lives. Murdoch production let Yannick come home to help call Best Westerns in Paris “near the Louvre” which was all we knew, and to let him be with me, while my stomach sat in my feet. We only had to “look” for our precious girl for two hours…loved ones of 911, and every attack since didn’t get that luxury…they looked for hours, days, and came up with loss.
I cannot fathom the depth of pain losing a loved one in that manner creates in a person. My heart goes out to the survivors of 911, to the people who had lives with all those who were lost. I hope and pray that they have found joy in the gift of life all these years later. I wish for their sake, and the rest of us that the world, mankind, would snap out of this trend of hatred, ugliness and brutality.
Wouldn’t that be nice…hmmm…hmmm…hmmm…