We remember.

As all of you know, today marks the 10th anniversary of the attack on the United States of America on September 11, 2001. I feel the need to write about this because, just like so many others, I'm still not able to have closure or make sense of anything surrounding that day. And seeing as how 9/11 absolutely forever changed 'my' world, if not the whole world as well, I think it seems appropriate to discuss my thoughts on this bittersweet day.

I started the day like I did every other day. It was 9/11 and I was a senior in high school. I guess I should admit that I actually skipped color guard rehearsal that morning so technically things were a little different than normal. In my room I was like a million other teenagers that day. I was a senior and soooo over high school. I'm sure I'd picked out what I thought was an excellent outfit, hair and makeup were just perfect, and I'm sure I'd spent several minutes beraiting my perfect outfit, hair, and makeup for all it wasn't. As if what I looked like was going to matter on this day.

Like every other senior in America, I was full to the top with the promises of my future. Deciding what college I wanted to attend and what I wanted to do with my life. Of course there were also more serious concerns like who would I be going to my senior Homecoming formal with and what the latest drama would be between two quarreling friends at school. And while it seems like I'm painting a rather shallow picture of myself at the ripe old age of 17, I'm actually trying to say that at 8:30am on September 11, 2001 I was like everyother American child. Those of us that grew up long after the turmoil of the civil rights movement during the 60s and the fear of the Cold War during the 60s/70s, yet before the terror of the children growing up post War on Terror, were carefree, optomisting, and most certain of the wonderful world that we were about to enter.

Like every other morning that I skipped I was listening to 99.5FM, the Wolf. A country radio station. A caller came on the air and started saying that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Of course, being the optimist and naive person I was, I immediately questioned how in the world a pilot could have made such an error as to fly into a building. If only that was the case, right?

The d.j.s immediately started telling this man to stop lying. There had been a 'Britney Spears died' rumor that got started on a radio station in Dallas just days before and the d.j.s, naive and doubting as I was, refused to believe it. However, there was just something in this man's voice that I couldn't shake off. A realness. A terror. So, I went into my mom's room where the nearest TV was and turned on the news. I turned it on with only a few seconds before the 2nd plane flew into the WTC. I remember hearing the news anchors say this was a terrorist attack, going into the bathroom because I got sick, and then calling my mom to tell her what was happening.

And however unbelievable it may seem, when the time came for me to get into my little 1994 two door, white Honda Accord and drive to school that morning, I was not the same child I was that got out of bed that same morning. I'd venture to say none of us were.

By sheer luck (or misfortune) I've always been a responsible person so 'growing up' wasn't really hard for me. However, the qualities some of us lose as we grow up, things like optimism and the ability to dream as big and far as one can imagine, in my opinion usually become harder and harder to reach over time. A first heartbreak. Loss of a loved one. Divorce. Failure. Even the strongest among us have difficulty during those hard times and find ourselves 'growing up,' losing our optismism, and dreaming less. That's not to say that those qualities can't be nutured to return, just that the realities of life are extremely hard to overcome, in my opinion, without a little faith and believing in a bigger plan, a bigger Creator.

I suppose I always expected my optimism would be lost in a 'normal' way. I guess I thought I'd go to college, have my heart broken, fail a few tests, maybe wash out of med school and be 'knocked down' a bit. As it turned out, my big event, my heart break and failed test, was actually planes crashing all around my country. In one moment, my optimism was reduced to utter fear and the promise of my future didn't seem certain beyond the moment I was living in.

The rest of that day is very fuzzy for me. I remember it was Amber Lyons 18th birthday. She had a huge amount of balloons from all of her friends that she carried around all day like a gigantic bouquet. I remember feeling at the same time both how horrible it was that she would forever share a birthday with such a terrible day in our country's history and how ridiculously happy her balloon bouquet seemed. I actually remember sitting in Mrs. Clay's English class looking at those balloons thinking 'What the heck are you so happy about? Couldn't you be a little less perky?'

I also remember the conversation during English. Mrs. Clay had two sons who were both part of the military. In an instant, she got it. She could see and understand the repurcussions of the day in a way that I still can't. And while she discuessed her own horrible fears related to her sons in the military (something I could neither relate to or understand the significance it would have to my own life in a few short years) she spoke honestly, candidly. She spent the whole hour of AP English talking with us, not as a class full of 17 and 18 year kids, but as adults that would be the first post-9/11 graduates. Charged with navigating through the chaos and uncertainty created on that day.

Later in that day, I visited the kidnergarten class I was interning in. As a highschool student I had the priveledge of spending 2 hours a day with a group of 21 five year olds in an elementary school close to my home. It was determined hours earlier that teachers would not inform the students of the days events, but allow parents the first opportunity to talk with them at home that night. Our day went along as normal. I'm fairly certain any adult that didn't know of the events of that horrible day would not have picked up on anything from our actions and interactions. So, you'll understand my shock when Tyler, this adorable little chubby Latino boy in my kindergarten class, asked me, "Ms. Loman, what's wrong today?" After stumbling over myself a million times, I finally managed to ask him what he meant. He told me that something was wrong with the teachers today. That we were all sad, but "tryin' not to show it." It is a moment that I will remember for the rest of my life. This little boy, who struggled with learning letters and counting numbers, sensed our fear and saddness. As I write his insight gives me goosebumps.

The only other part that stands out in my mind is spending the evening with my bestfriend. Her name was Abbi. For whatever reason we sat ouside, on the front curb of my house. I remember we just sat there, saying so little which, if you know any 17 year old girl, you also know little chatter is a sure sign of trouble. What we did talk about was our fear and our doubt. How everything that we thought we knew had changed. We made promises about forever being friends. We even pledged to name our daughters after one another (which I paritally did when naming my sweet Gabby). Even in my fear and doubt, sitting on that curb made things seem a little better. As the sun set that day, we both questioned aloud whether our world would exist the following day. Had we just lived our last days? Would this attack continue taking even more from us, and vastly more from those who lost their lives and loved ones?

As that girl, 10 years, one marriage, and three sweet, innocent babies later, I can't believe I ever thought those things. Hearing today about a plane that hit the WTC, then a second, then a third at the Pentagon, and a fourth in a field in Pennsylvania still doesn't seem possible. Even with all the incredible changes that have taken place since that horrible day and the new life I've accepted as the wife of a man devoted to protecting our country against such events, today I can't hardly get in touch with that day. Why is that? Have I gone back to being the naive girl I was that day and failed to learn any lessons? Or probably more accurate, maybe the 'new' world we all live in is already so ingrained in me that I don't notice?

I suppose I feel the need to figure it out, not because it matters so much for me, I mean yes it would be horrible to have not learned anything from 9/11, but more for my children. If the new way of the world is such a part of me that I don't notice, what's it going to do to my children? Are my children ever going to be seniors going to highschool with optimism and promise for the future? Will they be like me and expect to 'grow up' from a pain of a heart break? Or will the forever have to be 'grown up' in the ways of this world?

I suppose I strongly believe that what those horrible men did to our country and so many of our citizens is beyond words. However, if we allow the actions of that day to take the optimism, hope, and promises of not only those of us who lived through this time, but also now our children, they may as well attack us again.

As many of you know, my husband deals with this sort of stuff daily. Being in the military, having joined 3 months before 9/11, served in the War on Terror, and proudly protecting our country to this day, he hears everyday how 9/11 continues to affect our country. Whether it is helping facilitate a conference call (the kind where you have to sign non-disclosure agreements before leaving) or getting a call on his personal cell phone informing him of a return to duty overseas, this is his life. To a big extent, this is our life. I never expected to live in a world where we created a 'plan' of action in the event my husband calls me and says certain words. I also never expected to discuss with my husband how and when we would explain the horror of 9/11 to our children. Prior to that day, my simple mind couldn't even fathom something of this nature.

So it is a fine line I feel I walk. Supportive, and admittedly somewhat callused, wife to a career miitary man. Knowledgable of the hate that exists in the world, yet inheritanly a person of hope. Soft, and hopefully optimistic, mother to 3 sweet babies. Experiencing pure, innocent love. Some days its enough to push me over the edge. How do I arm my children with weapons to survive in this world while ensuring they will not feel like their future is being held hostage? How do my husband and I raise babies to both learn the lessons of this horrible tragedy, lessons that can never be forgotten, and live life without thought of this kind of hate? I feel it requires intent on my part. I know I'm not 'good enough' or 'smart enough' to accomplish this on my own or without purposeful parenting.

I never want my babies to know something so cruel exists. The knowledge of it seems evil enough to hurt a little mind. Yet isn't it irresponsible for me as a mom to not teach them? The thing is I have no answers. I know that I will explain September 11, 2001 to them as they ask. I won't lie or sugar coat. I also know that tonight as my husband and I watched a minute of a documentary airing on television about 9/11, I turned the TV off when our girls came in the room. Brave enough to conquer the subject someday, cowardly enough not to today.

And while so many are asking themselves tonight why their parent can't live with them today or why their child's life and future had to be stolen from them so soon, I want to know is it too much to ask that my children, the children of our country be able to live in the innocent world I grew up in?

At the end of the day all I know is to remember the past, believe in the human spirit of optimism and hopefullness, and pray for the strength to not only live my life, but also raise my chidlren to be educated about the realities of the world and be strong in the belief that good always wins in the end. Always.

Today, and everyday, we remember.

September 11, 2001