I’m reposting this. Because nothing has changed. My memories and my feelings. I wrote it a couple of years ago on Sept. 11.
I just realized that today was 9-11.
I can’t believe how many years ago our country was attacked by that whack job and his cronies.
I remember EVERYTHING. VIVIDLY. About that day. The whole traumatic day.
I remember driving to work and talking to my mom on my cell. She told me that a plane had just hit the World Trade Center. As we were talking, the 2nd plane hit.
I remember going into work and everyone was talking about it as we were getting the jewelry cases ready for the store to open.
I remember the television in a corner. And how, periodically, we would all go and check to see what was happening.
How we all stood, in open mouthed horror when another plane crashed into the Pentagon. And the whole world realized that we were under some sort of terrorist attack.
And then, another plane went down in a field.
I remember wanting to leave work. I desperately wanted to get my children. One of them from kindergarten, the other…at the preschool. But I wasn’t allowed to leave. The owners of the store wouldn’t let me.
I remember the owners of the store. Their concern for how this was going to hurt THEIR business. That’s when I realized that, no matter how philanthropical these people were, they really were just more concerned about their own bank accounts and I couldn’t stand them after that, because of that.
I remember the gas prices soaring to well over 5 dollars a gallon. The lines at the grocery stores were tremendous. Because, no one knew what was really happening and we needed to stock up on food and gas. Just in case. For whatever that just in case turned out to be.
I remember watching the Trade Center collapse.
I remember hearing how high the death toll was…DEVASTATINGLY high. Terrifying counts and accounts played and replayed on the television.
I remember how horribly I felt for those who lost family, friends, loved ones. There were so many.
9-11 changed me. It changed everyone.
We all lost something that day.
Where before, I had a false sense of security, living in the United States of America. Now, I have none.
I worry every time I drop my son off at school.
I worry every time I drop my kids off at Sunday School.
I worry EVERY time we go to Temple for the holidays.
In the back of my mind, always a little suspicion. Always taking in my surroundings, just in case.
I don’t live my life in fear. I refuse. But, I worry. Mostly because, if anything happens. If, god forbid, there are more atrocities committed by those extremists, on American soil…
How do I protect my children?
That is what I worry about. That is the only thing I care about. Protecting the children. All the children.
I hate that I don’t feel safe anymore. But more than anything…I hate that I don’t feel like my children are safe. Not really. Because, you just never know.
We were blindsided all those years ago…well, at least the majority of us didn’t know ahead of time that there was going to be a horrible act of terror.
Who is to say that it won’t happen again?
So, we keep on living our lives. Pretending that America is completely safe. Pretending that our government can protect us. Trying to get back our false sense of security. And ignoring the tingling at the nape of our neck. Our Spidey Senses…always on high alert. Silently bracing ourselves for the next time…
Hopefully there won’t be a next time.
My thoughts today are with everyone whose life was horrendously touched by this tragic event.
May you find peace.