Where were you?

I know it's a week past the 9/11 anniversary but I had to post my memory of where I was ten years ago. Someday when I'm super old and forgetful this post will come in handy when my kids have to do a history assignment on that fateful day.

Everyone remembers where they were that day.

I was a student at Utah State University. I'd just finished an early morning class and walked into my Dad's office in the Engineering building. I must have said "hi Dad!" because I remember telling me to be quiet and listen. He had the radio on.

Then the radio hosts started screaming.

I didn't know what was going on. But I won't ever forget the shock in the radio announcer's voices. The time is a blur but I think they were screaming about the second tower collapsing. That would fit the time of when I was probably out of class and back at my Dad's office. I feel this sense of loss at not being able to remember what I heard as it was happening in New York City. I still feel bad that I had no clue what the World Trade Centers even were. I kept asking my Dad what was going on and what it meant. He just said two planes hit two buildings in New York City. He didn't know what it meant, probably war. It was surreal. I walked home and turned on the T.V. Everyone seemed to sense that classes wouldn't be held and time would sort of stop. The entire country sat glued to their T.V.s. My roommate, Kristy, Jeff, and I sat and watched the scenes over and over again all day.

I remember seeing the unbelievable footage of the planes hitting, the explosions, the collapses. I remember hearing the reporters and radio hosts screaming, "OMG! There's a second plane! A second plane has hit the tower!" And then later, " The tower is collapsing!" It was unfathomable and shocking. No one knew what it meant. Later learning about a plane crashing into the Pentagon and a field somewhere in Pennsylvania.

But after a few days of talk and news coverage, things started to move on for those of us not directly affected by the horrible day's events.

Every year our country pauses to remember 9-11. But this year, I paused. I had this weird sense of longing to be more connected to 9-11 than my meager experience and memory. I don't know if it's because since then I'd gone to NYC and been to Ground Zero in 2006. Or maybe it's because I have my own family and have "grown up" from a young, carefree college kid. All I knew was that I had to take time to pause and remember. I heard about Utah's Healing Field Memorial on the news and knew we had to go. I had to go. IT was the nation's first memorial of its kind after the attacks. We went twice. First on the 9-11 anniversary... it was late and I knew we were pushing our luck to get there in time. It started to pour rain just minutes after we arrived. We did go and visit my Aunt and Uncle nearby so all wasn't lost.

But I had to go back. I just felt it was something important we needed to do. I knew I would have regretted not going back down to see the field of flags. One flag for every person killed in the 9-11 attacks. The kids and I picked up Jeff from work and we headed back down to the memorial. The sea of flags was breathtaking. I wish my pictures could capture the feeling of seeing nearly 3,000 of them waving in the wind as symbols of tragedy, sacrifice, and hope. Pearl kept asking us why we were there... she didn't really want to spend our entire F.H.E. doing nothing by reverently walking up and down isle after isle of flags. I stopped randomly along the way to read the cards attached to each flag, detailing the name, age, and life of a victim. You just sort of imagine all these people to be adults or to just be victims of some horrific event that you can't even imagine. It's like you see pictures of people but they don't have faces because you didn't know any of them personally. But then....A three-year-old on one of the planes. A child. My child. It never occurred to me that these were normal people doing normal, everyday things. Entire families gone. Fathers and mothers with children my own children's ages. People my own age.... all of them early in their careers... seeing their ages 34, 32, 30, 29, 43 over and over again made it real. Brothers, sisters, grandparents, children, parents, friends, coworkers all gone. Dads who went to work and never came home. Jeff and I both commented that we couldn't believe the heroic efforts that the passengers on American Airlines flight 93... that the passengers knew something was happening, that they assessed the situation, made a plan, voted on that plan, and executed it. So many of the cards mentioned getting calls from loved ones aboard the plane before it crashed... telling them their last goodbyes and I love yous in this eerie calm. Saving who knows how many lives in the process. I could have stayed and read every single card.The "Hope Rising: To Lift a Nation" bronze statute was powerful. Jeff pointed out the concrete it was on... it wasn't smooth... it was rough, broken. Seeing the FDNY on the backs of the statues literally made my hair stand on end.It was just crazy to see this piece of steel from one of the towers. It was twisted, you could imagine the weight bearing down on it, the heat melting it in this uneven shape. To run your fingers on it and feel its rough exterior was humbling. I came home and couldn't stop myself from reading everything I could find on the day's events... watching the scenes play out over and over again, listening to YouTube videos of calls made by passengers on the planes, inside the towers screaming for help then silence. I had to finally stop myself because I couldn't take it anymore. It was real.

I'm so grateful we went. I know my kids didn't find it exciting or memorable. In fact, they complained and whined for most of the time we were there. But someday they will understand. For a moment I felt a great sense of awe, and strangely calm and hope. Hope in knowing there is a God who loves each of us, His children. And yet a sadness that we His children, could do this to each other. He has given us a great gift of freedom, one that comes with a heavy price sometimes. May we never forget 9-11.