This morning, my fifteen year old son Garrett said, “Mom, it’s 9/11. I wonder if they’ll have a moment of silence at school today.”
I replied, “Well, they had a moment of silence for Steve Irwin. I certainly hope they’ll have one for 9/11.”
We remembered what happened five years ago–that horrific day that stained our souls. “I was in fifth grade,” my son said.
On that day, I was still single after my divorce. I lived in a different house, and had a different perspective on life. That morning, my brother phoned. I remember thinking it was strange for him to call at that hour. “Have you been watching the news?” he asked.
I hadn’t. “What channel?” I wondered.
“Any channel.”
Then I sat, dumbstruck, watching.
I had stood on those towers once, with Garrett. He was a baby then. His father and I had lived in New York and knew the rhythm of that city, with the car alarms at night like crickets putting you to sleep. We had strolled along the sidewalks of Broadway and ate sandwiches on a bench, watching taxis whirl by. We had stood at the foot of the Statue of Liberty. We ate bagels at corner delis and folded our pizza in half. We knew the cathedrals, the screaming peacocks, the fountains of central park, and cruel Manhattan suspicion. At night, we could see the Empire State Building distantly in our window. We were familiar with the sound of late night gunfire. We had been on the subways many times, and heard the speeches of the transients begging for money. Garrett had been born at St. Vincent’s hospital on a cold morning in January. I was in labor in a taxi cab accompanied by my mother and husband, counting minutes between contractions. I arrived and delivered my son several hours later, just after the snow began to fall. I became a mother in New York City.
And I had stood on those towers.
An old friend who still lived in the city told me that for many weeks after that catstrophic day “you could still smell the awful burning stench.” And even when it lifted, the horror of that day lingered…the pain, the anguish, the outrage. You could feel the grief of those people who, for no good reason lost their fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and friends. We all feel their heartbreak, even today.
One of my boys once asked, “Mom, why do people hate us? Why do they hate America?”
And as a mother of kids who bravely face challenges, I’ve learned that I don’t always have good answers. Does anyone have them for me?
Our flag is flying today. And we remember.
Kristyn Crow is the author of this blog. Visit her website by clicking here. Some links on this blog may have been generated by outside sources are not necessarily endorsed by Kristyn Crow.
Related Articles:
Five Years Later: Let Us Take a Moment
Where were you when the world stopped turning?
Five Years Later: The Aftermath
Education: A-Z: R for Remembering 9/11 in the Classroom
Where were you on Septemeber 11, 2001?
September 11: In Honor of the Fallen and Those Who Defend Us
Fitness Thoughts & More for September