Alana struggles with her faith after her husband dies in 9/11. This is written for speech.
|I don't want to do this; not now. It's far too soon. They expect me to stand up in front of a church full of people and tell them a meaningful story of what Henry was like and how he impacted me? Don't they realize the feelings I'm suffering right now? God? If there even is a god...help me get through this. If anyone can actually hear me from up there, (points to the sky), then help me get through this without internally killing myself.
Intro: 50,000 employees worked in the World Trade Center buildings equally. Yet, when the Hijacked planes of the September 11th attack hit the towers, only 20,000 were busy working at their desks. Some people argue that it was our almighty god who spared those 30,000 other lives. So does this mean he was also responsible for the 20,000 people who lost their lives? This one question haunted Alana Owens' mind. After her husbands death in the 9/11 attack she begins to question the entire existence of god. Here Alana publically releases her bottled up feelings and battles her faith in 'God, If you're really out there'.
(Clears throat) "Hi. I'm Alana, Henry's wife. Henry and I were together since junior year of high school. He was on the Debate Team and I was on the school newspaper. I was covering the Debate state tournament, which Henry was competing in, for an article. In between rounds, I managed to get an interview with him... and as cliché as it may seem, we clicked! As we got to know each other we learned that our interests were on completely different levels. While I had a crazy high school obsession with Brad Pitt, Henry had a crazy high school obsession with the Alakazam Pokémon. Still does! (Pause) Did.
College came along, and we both ended up going to NYU. Eventually after college graduation, he proposed. (pause, slowly breaking down) Looking back on all those memories really makes me realize how much we went through. (shorter pause) And now it's... gone.
For a week now, I've been sitting alone in the apartment. All of Henry's things still sit in the exact same place he left them. His check book, which he had forgotten to take to work, sits on the kitchen counter. The shirt he had worn the night before the attack, hangs on the bed post and you can still smell the cologne on it. Even his half-eaten Pop Tart, great breakfast, still sits on the kitchen table. Everything reminds me of him. I still feel as though he's gonna come walking through the door at any moment. But, I know he never will. It's just me, now. What have I got to believe in anymore? God? This guy? On the cross? (Points to painting of Jesus on wall behind her) What has he done? (pause) You know, I've never been that much of a religious person. Growing up, my parents and I only attended church during holidays. We didn't pray. We didn't sing religious songs. But, I still believed that something was at higher power. I felt in my heart that there was something else, beyond all of this. (Raises arms to show life in general) But now, I really don't know what to believe. (Pause)
We were having a great morning. Henry was so excited about this idea that he was going to pitch to corporate. He had kissed me goodbye and left for work... If only I knew it'd be the last time I'd ever see him. Ever feel him. Ever hear him. (Groans upsetly) Couldn't "god" have warned me? Some how? (Angrily)
(Shakes it off) Anyway, at about 8:30 AM, I got a call from Henry. He was telling me that corporate had loved his idea and was planning to use it. I remember thinking to myself, 'We're really going to make it. We have such a good future ahead of us.' We hung up and literally no more then 20 minutes later my phone began ringing again. It was Henry. However the only sounds I heard was the sound of his breathing. It was slow and raspy. As if something was stuck in his throat. But then, he spoke my name...I knew something was wrong but before I could say anything, the sound of sirens echoed from the streets. I looked out the window. And black, endless smoke filled the sky. I turned on the news to find dark, smoke flooding from the North Tower of the World Trade Center.... Henry's office. I begged Henry to tell me if he was alright. I begged him! When he finally spoke, he said "Alana, I love you." (Pause) Before I could respond, the line was cut causing me to only hear the dial tone. I looked at the T.V. and saw the tower slowly begin to fall, Floor, by floor, by floor. Each passing second murdered me more and more, piece by piece. (shorter Pause) How could someone so marvelous be killed by something so dreadful? (Pause)
On the internet I've read stories about how "God" delayed people who worked in the World Trade Center from being to work on time. Like, for example, this one lady's alarm clock didn't go off and so she wasn't there on time, avoiding the disaster. For another guy, it was his day to bring donuts, but I guess he got to eat them all by himself. (Ticked off short laugh) One man got a blister on his way to work so he stopped at a drugstore to buy a band-aid! I mean, if these stories really are god's doing then he prevented about 30,000 people from being to work on time resulting in their lives being spared. Then why couldn't Henry have been one of those 30,000? (pause) Where was god for Henry?
(Pause; begins to calm her tone more.)
You know, if Henry were here he'd probably scold me for only worrying about him. He was a sweetheart. Knowing him, he probably would have wanted me to be happy that those 30,000 lives were even spared at all. But, that's how he thinks, not me. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for the people who are still alive today. But, Henry's NOT (pause) alive... (pause)(sighs) God? If you really are out there, you owe me a favor. I mean, think I deserve that much. Just tell Henry one thing, for me... (pause) I love you too."