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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
| The What If’s My mind was swirling, as if in the midst of a dream, while I sat on my wooden thirsty- for-paint deck. Temperatures were soaring high in the mid-September sun causing beads of perspiration to trickle down the back of my neck. A frosty mug of sweet tea and two lovable pooches were my companions. Somewhere in the distance a familiar melody drifted through the air, almost seeming to float in the light breeze of the day. Without knowing why, I started to hum the tune. Recognition of the tune came suddenly and it invaded my heart, as it always had. Today, as my lips formed the shape of words in their automatic march of the beloved lyrics, the song held special meaning. The song was God Bless America and today was September 11, 2019. Here, in the simple pleasures of my life, I allowed the music and dream-like ambience of my mood to carry me back through time. I remembered. The first thoughts were of personal nature. I pictured my children, now fully grown, as the small babes that they were on that day and my husband, young and strong without the gray hair that graces his head now. I remember exactly where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing. Like a little micro-chip was stored in my brain, I can feel the turmoil, the fear, the helplessness, the hopelessness, and the overwhelming sense of loss. Even this many years later, the experience is real and it is harrowing. I am bombarded with images of planes, falling towers, falling people, and infernos. The stench of pungent smoke and burning ash wafts across my deck as my mind replays the war-like scenes witnessed on the television over and over again. I am just a bit-part player, an inconsequential bystander, to the horrific visions before me. The ache stabs me like a knife, though I was nowhere near the towers and my feet were firmly planted on the ground free from planes. Even in my trance, I am nauseated by the sights unfolding. I woke from the dream, not knowing how much time had passed. My heart was racing and my face was covered in the wetness of tears. It was sobering moment spent in my lawn chair after waking. My story is not unique as across this country millions of people are paying a silent tribute for all of the lives lost . After calming myself, I visited the what-if’s category of life. What if we had never experienced the trauma of September eleventh? Pictures of the faces of the people that died that day flash through my mind. I imagine all of the contributions they may have made to our country had they lived. For a moment thoughts of worry creep through my mind, that maybe one of the souls lost that day was meant to give birth to the child that would one day save our planet from destruction. It hurts to know how many gifts of talent and potential were lost within mere seconds of hatred. It is a mind-numbing process of what might have been and an effort in futility. I make note of how many ways our country has changed. Intense security on planes, new for the older generations, has now become standard practice for the kids of this generation. Rise was given to the scrutiny of nations and nationalities blamed for our pain. We rallied in our patriotism for a short time with our hands firmly clenched at our chest. We sought answers and we taught respect of one another. So I wonder, on this day that we memorialize a bloody day in history, how almost twenty years later our differences are so great. What if it hadn’t happened? Would our divisions be so varied and longstanding? Would we speak with one voice and raise each other up for the contributions each side brings to the table? The aftermath or outcomes of any historical event will be studied and explored for decades by greater minds than mine. It is my hope that our unity blossoms once again Strength and hope can rise from the ashes of our remembrances if we vow to never to allow another day such as this to happen. The reality is that all of the Americans born before 2001 carry with them a form of post traumatic stress disorder. No one more than the people at ground zero, the families of the people lost, or the strident rescuers on the scene can recall the pain of that day more emphatically. It is ingrained into the persons that they are today and sadly it is a part of their soul. Reflections of 911 appear in the recesses of our minds in unexpected places. Cryptic thoughts are triggered from unlikely sources permitting the sadness to overtake us. I lift myself up from the chair, moving toward the house still feeling the weight of an explicit dream in my heart. . It is the realization striking me, that my what-if tale impacts the masses in ways, we have yet to understand. It is the knowledge that I am powerless to turn what-if’s into reality that saddens me. It is a feeling that our lessons learned from 911 come to surface on only one particular day of remembrance each year that frightens me. |
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