Eighteen years ago I stood outside of volleyball practice looking up into the big Kansas sky. It was my senior year. I will never forget how strangely eerie it felt to not see one jet contrail in the sky. Not one. In flyover country that is rare. Typically there are a handful of planes passing over at any given moment, their many trails are about as familiar as the sun and clouds. But not on September 11, 2001. The planes had been grounded and life as we previously knew it had been changed forever. I remember.
I remember the horror of realizing what was happening. The shock, disbelief, the sadness. I still feel those same feelings when I see the footage today though I know that my feelings can’t possibly compare to that of what those brave heroes felt on that day, to what the victims must have experienced, the pain of those they left behind, or the lingering health side effects of those at ground zero. No, I don’t pretend to know what that was like and I pray no one ever does again. I remember.
I remember the patriotism that rose from the ashes. Many were inspired to serve to protect their freedoms whether that was overseas or finding opportunities in their own communities. There was a sense of unification. I remember.
It was warm tonight. It felt like that day 18 years before. A beautiful sunset, but this time with the contrails shooting across the sky. I stood in the yard watching my kids play. Kids who weren’t even thought of eighteen years ago. I see this event in a whole new light as a wife and mother. My heart breaks in a different way for those effected by that day as now I have the wonderful weight of a family on my shoulders as many of those people did. One day, when they are old enough to understand, I will tell my children about that day. I remember and I want them to as well.