today

I woke up this morning immediately realizing the date and feeling sorrowful in ways you can't really express. I was drinking my morning coffee with Zack at the breakfast table when I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I tried biting the inside of my mouth to stop them as I looked out the window, hoping Zack wouldn't see my glistening eyes. It's not that I'm afraid to cry in front of my husband (goodness knows that's not the case), it's just- I had no idea where this sudden onset of emotion came from. I was as confused by it as anyone, and I didn't want to try to explain something that I didn't fully understand myself. In any case, Zack immediately noticed my pale face and quivering lip and softly said, "hey...what's wrong?" You know when you're fighting tears and you'd probably be able to suppress them- but then someone gives you a kind glance or a warm touch and you just lose it like you've never lost it before? That happened. He wrapped me up in a tight hug and asked me again- "what is wrong?" All I could manage to get out was, "I'm...sad." 

"I'm sad." What a small phrase for emotions- for a day- so big. It barely seems appropriate to simply say, "I am sad." But I am- I am so deeply sad for so much, for so many today. 

Every single person I know remembers that day- how can we not? It ripped itself into America's history book, leaving a deep, smoldering mark across the pages and chapters for years to come. It's been 11 years and the wound still aches for us- maybe not the searing pain we felt in the cold months of 2001, but it's a quiet ache that I don't think will ever go away.

I was wearing pale blue corduroy pants with a white t shirt that had a pink eagle on it and said "All-American girl." I walked into my science classroom and immediately knew something was not right. The TV was on, and my teacher- Mr. Bryant- was frantically pushing buttons on his cell phone in the hallway. (I later learned he had a daughter at NYU, hence his panic.) Normally without a teacher present in the classroom, we would take full advantage to act like heathens. This day was different. Even though we didn't really know, we knew the world was changing- something horrible was happening. We sat in silence watching the second plane hit. I remember being so cold. I couldn't stop shaking. 

We moved to our next period, and then the school put us on lock-down. We lived in an Air Force base town, and waves of unfounded rumors rippled through the hallways that we would probably be targeted by the terrorists. Terrorists? I tried that word in my mouth, saying it a few times, letting the three syllables roll over my tongue. It was a somewhat foreign word to me, to a lot of the American youth. Terrorist. I still don't like feeling the word in my mouth, but it's no longer a stranger. 

My mommy took me out of school early that day. I still don't know if she was worried for my safety or just wanted to hug me tightly. My parents always did an amazing job of letting me and my brothers know how much we were cherished, but that day in particular I remember so much love flowing through our home.

As the days wore on, we began to resume our everyday lives. The images of planes hitting buildings and people leaping from windows no longer consumed my morbid thoughts and eventually people stopped wearing American flag t-shirts and being overly nice to each other. But the day still haunts us- 11 years later, and it is still a dull throb.


There really was no point to this post- I have no clever words or nice tidy way to wrap this post up. I just wanted to say that on this day, I am sad. Tomorrow I will be happy, but today my heart hurts.