Seven years ago this morning I sat in shock with my sister Becky and watched the towers in New York City fall. My friend Robin had called me and said, "Turn on the TV. We are being attacked." I watched the second plane hit, and the towers crashing to the ground. I struggled to cope with the shock. What was I going to say to my young students? I was a new teacher with only two years under my belt from grad school teaching; now in the second month of my first real job I felt the weight of responsibility. I was working at Utah Valley State College, since it was the closest college to my mom who was living in my home town of Moab. My dad had recently died, and I didn't want to be too far away if mom needed me, or I needed her.
I watched the Twin Towers fall and tried to decide what to tell my students. What sage wisdom could I offer to these young men and women when I was only a few years older than them? How could I help assuage their fears, when I knew that the world would never be the same. I knew this meant retaliation. I was born on Pearl Harbor Day. I was raised with stories of the War, since both my grandfather's served in the Air Force. I was not your typical teen, nor have I ever been content with the norm. However, I had become complacent without even realizing it. I knew what this meant. Complacency always leads to disaster ... and then change. Pearl Harbor left the U.S. stunned, and forced our hand.
My mind cycled through my youth. My junior year of high school the wall in Berlin came down. My freshman year of college my good friend Andrew Semadeni left for Iraq during Desert Storm. I thought about the seemingly eternal turmoil in that region of the world. My logical mind ran through the possible outcomes of this new attack, but part of me was stopped by the horror, the complete and utter knowledge of loss. Families destroyed; children without parents; sons, daughters, mothers, fathers ... fathers lost to this terror.
I understood loss. The months prior to 9/11 had been a personal lesson in how much one can lose. My father died within days of me returning home triumphant with my Master's Degree in English Lit and Pedagogy. He was my hero, a man who sacrificed his dreams to make sure his kids and wife had what they needed. My baggage, however, was deep and varied; my best friend turned boyfriend, turned stranger was dating a brainless twit. I had loved him for a long unrequited time before he kissed me and changed my ability to see how his kisses were only a desperate attempt to feel something he was incapable of grasping. And when the end came, I was like Humpty Dumpty ... no one could put me together again. I lost so much more than a boyfriend when he decided to end things. I lost my faith in truth, beauty, and safety. 9/11 felt just like that all over again. I brought this pain into my core and let it spread slowly through my awareness, and then I got in my car and went to try and calm the fears of my students. Truly, I don't remember what I told them. All I know is that I am still in contact with a few of them, and they always contact me around this time to say they remember our class discussion.
Now I sit here seven years later remembering the brief flashes of the past, and I feel sure that I am wiser in so many things. Seven years of healing, seven years of refinding myself in the aftermath of all my grief, seven years of change. I miss my dad everyday, but I know I will see him again. My ex is still a dear friend, despite the bitter past. I have found a man that is the best of men. He is smart, and kind, and the best thing that could have ever happened to me, and he has made the last four years a joy every single day. Humans are miraculous; we heal from even the worst of our wounds. And though I pray we never forget the men and women of 9/11; I hope that this nation will continue to heal. That we will step out beyond the hatred and mend our wounds and the wounds of other nations where we can. I know, I know, it is a rose colored glasses dream. But I am a dreamer, and I believe . . . I believe we have the infinite capability to change, to heal, and to make a difference for our people, their children and their future.
I watched the Twin Towers fall and tried to decide what to tell my students. What sage wisdom could I offer to these young men and women when I was only a few years older than them? How could I help assuage their fears, when I knew that the world would never be the same. I knew this meant retaliation. I was born on Pearl Harbor Day. I was raised with stories of the War, since both my grandfather's served in the Air Force. I was not your typical teen, nor have I ever been content with the norm. However, I had become complacent without even realizing it. I knew what this meant. Complacency always leads to disaster ... and then change. Pearl Harbor left the U.S. stunned, and forced our hand.
My mind cycled through my youth. My junior year of high school the wall in Berlin came down. My freshman year of college my good friend Andrew Semadeni left for Iraq during Desert Storm. I thought about the seemingly eternal turmoil in that region of the world. My logical mind ran through the possible outcomes of this new attack, but part of me was stopped by the horror, the complete and utter knowledge of loss. Families destroyed; children without parents; sons, daughters, mothers, fathers ... fathers lost to this terror.
I understood loss. The months prior to 9/11 had been a personal lesson in how much one can lose. My father died within days of me returning home triumphant with my Master's Degree in English Lit and Pedagogy. He was my hero, a man who sacrificed his dreams to make sure his kids and wife had what they needed. My baggage, however, was deep and varied; my best friend turned boyfriend, turned stranger was dating a brainless twit. I had loved him for a long unrequited time before he kissed me and changed my ability to see how his kisses were only a desperate attempt to feel something he was incapable of grasping. And when the end came, I was like Humpty Dumpty ... no one could put me together again. I lost so much more than a boyfriend when he decided to end things. I lost my faith in truth, beauty, and safety. 9/11 felt just like that all over again. I brought this pain into my core and let it spread slowly through my awareness, and then I got in my car and went to try and calm the fears of my students. Truly, I don't remember what I told them. All I know is that I am still in contact with a few of them, and they always contact me around this time to say they remember our class discussion.
Now I sit here seven years later remembering the brief flashes of the past, and I feel sure that I am wiser in so many things. Seven years of healing, seven years of refinding myself in the aftermath of all my grief, seven years of change. I miss my dad everyday, but I know I will see him again. My ex is still a dear friend, despite the bitter past. I have found a man that is the best of men. He is smart, and kind, and the best thing that could have ever happened to me, and he has made the last four years a joy every single day. Humans are miraculous; we heal from even the worst of our wounds. And though I pray we never forget the men and women of 9/11; I hope that this nation will continue to heal. That we will step out beyond the hatred and mend our wounds and the wounds of other nations where we can. I know, I know, it is a rose colored glasses dream. But I am a dreamer, and I believe . . . I believe we have the infinite capability to change, to heal, and to make a difference for our people, their children and their future.
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