102- September 11

I think I should blog today.
About September 11th.


It's been 10 years.  I was 12.  In Kansas.  
And it still hurts more than anything to relive.  


Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 I was in 7th grade.  In Orchestra.  And my teacher, before we started class said something along the lines that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, we didn't know if it was an attack or a mistake, but he just wanted to let us know.


I don't remember anything about the rest of the school day except that none of my teachers let us watch it on TV.  What a crock is that?


My next flashbulb is being at home at like 3pm sitting on my couch watching the replaying of all the footage on the news.  And sobbing.  Because, although I was young, I understood what was lost.  


Moms.  Dads.  Grandmas.  Aunties.  Neighbors.  Friends.  Sisters.  


People.  People who wouldn't return to their families.  Their puppies.  They probably had mail waiting to be sent.  They had journals that documented unfinished hopes and dreams.  


And I sat on the couch sobbing.  I don't remember where my sisters were.  But I do remember Tracy and I running to my mom's arms when she came home from work.  We were halfway on the stairs.  She met us halfway up the stairs.  


I remember she was supposed to fly the next weekend and one of the first things she told us was that she wouldn't be leaving.  


I remember in the days after my dad sitting on my bed shaking his head and saying we were probably going to go to war and it's likely that it would go on long enough that some of my friends would have to go.  And I remember thinking, "no way, I'm too young."  


Every anniversary after, I've turned off the TV.  I change the radio station when they talk about it.  For 10 years, I've avoided it.  The pain.  The emptiness.  


This year I watched it.  I thought I owed it to them.  To not pretend; not avoid.  


History Channel had this showed called "102 Minutes That Changed America."  Watch it.  It's hard.  You'll probably cry.  


But it's a really enlightening look at how it felt to be there that day.  
You see the faces of the firefighters who walked towards the towers.  The ones who you know didn't come back.
You hear the voices of the people trapped on the upper floors calling for 911.  You hear 911 telling them to stay put.  
You close your eyes as a tear falls when you see the people jump.  
You catch you breath when you see the clouds of smoke from the first tower falling.  


So here I am thinking about that loss.  That awful, mean, horrible, excruciating, terrifying loss.  


And also trying to figure out what it means to be American.  
Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.  United We Stand.  Proud to be an American.  Pledge of Allegiance.  


Those all have to mean something.  
But there's been so much anger.  Blame.  People celebrated when Osama Bin Laden was killed.  
I don't understand.  Not like, "how could they do that; it's still a death."  That's not what I mean.  


I literally don't understand.  I don't even know what I don't understand.  How I feel.  What is right.  My patriotism.  
I want to win.  But I want to be fair.  I value life.  


It's been 10 years.  And I know I can't do this next year.  I didn't post a picture, because I knew whatever it was, it would hurt to look at it again.  


In another 10 years, I will open this box again.  


Kate