Five Years
I was as shocked, horrified and unsettled as any of us was that morning. We watched, we cried, we sat in stunned silence, listening to the damn TV and knowing that nothing was going to ever be the same as it was. It wasn't a new chapter; it was a different book by another author, and everything was going to be different.
I thought about the victims, cried and prayed for them and the families left behind.
I tried to give blood, but couldn't get past the long donation lines. When it became clear that the expected demand for huge amounts of blood never materialized, the rush was less urgent, but my need to help didn't wane. I began donating platelets, a three-hour process.
I wanted to strike out at the bad guys, whoever they were, but had to content myself with supporting those that could. And working for the Coast Guard opened lots of doors to serve my country.
The images of the Towers falling that morning, the slowly unfolding human tragedy striking so many people, so random, so arbitrary, ultimately made the events of the day all about ordinary people.
Ordinary people, like me.
Separated for about half a year at the time, so uncertain of what the future held for me and my kids. I had no idea how bad things would get, how much hurt and pain were in my future. Uncertain, yet in my heart I knew something... and that terrible morning gave me a reason to know that this was the truth.
My family is the most important thing to me.
On 9-11, as I drove to work late from the news coverage, passing by an armed gate guard onto the base, I knew that I would kill to protect my children. I would die to protect my children. Like a brown bear mama, I would rip apart anyone who threatened my children.
Five years later, we praise the many heroes... Tod Beamer on United 93, the ordinary firefighters and police who found extraordinary courage and sacrificed selflessly to save others, the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan and so many other unpleasant places, Coastguardsman Nate Bruckenhall who gave his life defending an oil platform in the Persian Gulf. I cry when I listen to the wives, brothers and sisters, mothers, torn between their admiration and their loss.
I quietly endure my own loss. I am divorced, and I have children who I love with all my heart, and despite my best efforts, things didn't turn out well... a drawn-out personal version of that awful morning five years ago.
I know a few things very well:
Life is way too short, and too randomly cruel, to waste time with hate and evil and meanness.
Nothing makes me happier than giving someone I love a big hug (like my Little One), for no reason other than I love them.
It is good, proper and right to do the correct thing, to take the high road, to never compromise on character.
I love my country, and I will endeavor to protect her citizenry.
I love my Julie.
I love my children. Always, unconditionally.
God bless us all.
KML
I thought about the victims, cried and prayed for them and the families left behind.
I tried to give blood, but couldn't get past the long donation lines. When it became clear that the expected demand for huge amounts of blood never materialized, the rush was less urgent, but my need to help didn't wane. I began donating platelets, a three-hour process.
I wanted to strike out at the bad guys, whoever they were, but had to content myself with supporting those that could. And working for the Coast Guard opened lots of doors to serve my country.
The images of the Towers falling that morning, the slowly unfolding human tragedy striking so many people, so random, so arbitrary, ultimately made the events of the day all about ordinary people.
Ordinary people, like me.
Separated for about half a year at the time, so uncertain of what the future held for me and my kids. I had no idea how bad things would get, how much hurt and pain were in my future. Uncertain, yet in my heart I knew something... and that terrible morning gave me a reason to know that this was the truth.
My family is the most important thing to me.
On 9-11, as I drove to work late from the news coverage, passing by an armed gate guard onto the base, I knew that I would kill to protect my children. I would die to protect my children. Like a brown bear mama, I would rip apart anyone who threatened my children.
Five years later, we praise the many heroes... Tod Beamer on United 93, the ordinary firefighters and police who found extraordinary courage and sacrificed selflessly to save others, the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan and so many other unpleasant places, Coastguardsman Nate Bruckenhall who gave his life defending an oil platform in the Persian Gulf. I cry when I listen to the wives, brothers and sisters, mothers, torn between their admiration and their loss.
I quietly endure my own loss. I am divorced, and I have children who I love with all my heart, and despite my best efforts, things didn't turn out well... a drawn-out personal version of that awful morning five years ago.
I know a few things very well:
Life is way too short, and too randomly cruel, to waste time with hate and evil and meanness.
Nothing makes me happier than giving someone I love a big hug (like my Little One), for no reason other than I love them.
It is good, proper and right to do the correct thing, to take the high road, to never compromise on character.
I love my country, and I will endeavor to protect her citizenry.
I love my Julie.
I love my children. Always, unconditionally.
God bless us all.
KML
posted by Ken at 10:28 PM
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