For the last seven years, I have cried on September 11th. The images of that day in 2001 and the memories I have...there is no other response for me except for tears.
I drove my sisters to school that day, Nat to junior high and Anne to high school. I was eighteen. I had only graduated three months before. We heard the news of the World Trade Center on the radio. I went home, not realizing the magnitude of what was happening in New York or Washington. The TV was on all day, and as I watched the footage and heard reports coming in, there were absolutely no words. It still gives me chills.
Today as I remembered, as I watched the events of that day unfolding again on TV and online, I still find it hard to describe exactly how that day changed me. It affected me very deeply. I think of the people who called their families to say goodbye, the passengers on Flight 93 who refused to let their plane cause more destruction, the children who were left behind, and I can't even begin to imagine...
but I feel it's up to me, and to all of us, to remember. I wasn't in New York or Washington or Pennsylvania. The people that died, I don't know all their names. I never stood face to face with any of them. Yet to me, one way I can pay tribute to them is to not let the memory of what they went through that morning slip away with time. Perhaps that's why I cry. Another small tribute...
The last dawn before the world changed
became a bright and cloudless September day,
no one knowing it was defining morning
that forever interrupted would stay,
slowly realizing, a nation watched
as smoke and anguish stained our minds,
wondering what understanding and pain
the Tuesday twilight would find,
for it wasn’t just the horizon that changed,
not just the skyline that fell,
it was the shape of everyday life,
it was tears,
it was souls whispering their farewells,
yet through the dust that settled,
there was life in evening’s breath,
brought into this nation’s heart
through unfathomable death,
and now we raise the flag a little higher,
we remember the price that was paid,
we must always honor the memory
of all that was lost on the day,
we owe our lives those who stood
and fought back with courage set,
and I am awed and grateful,
humbled by the reach of freedom’s debt,
so in my thoughts and my own little heart,
the least I can do
is always remember
what we can never forget.
became a bright and cloudless September day,
no one knowing it was defining morning
that forever interrupted would stay,
slowly realizing, a nation watched
as smoke and anguish stained our minds,
wondering what understanding and pain
the Tuesday twilight would find,
for it wasn’t just the horizon that changed,
not just the skyline that fell,
it was the shape of everyday life,
it was tears,
it was souls whispering their farewells,
yet through the dust that settled,
there was life in evening’s breath,
brought into this nation’s heart
through unfathomable death,
and now we raise the flag a little higher,
we remember the price that was paid,
we must always honor the memory
of all that was lost on the day,
we owe our lives those who stood
and fought back with courage set,
and I am awed and grateful,
humbled by the reach of freedom’s debt,
so in my thoughts and my own little heart,
the least I can do
is always remember
what we can never forget.
2 comments:
it wasn't weird being called Mrs. Nielsen because I was used to it over at Sandstone. But that was weird the first couple of days!! I love being called Mrs. Nielsen for some reason... it's a ton better than TEACHER TEACHER!!! Eew... my kids will never be allowed to call me that, that's for sure
What a beautiful poem Ames. Of course, it made my cry. You are awesome!
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