Sunday, September 11, 2011

When the world stopped turning..

On September 11, 2011, I was in the sixth grade.

My dad came to school that morning and picked me and my brother up from school in order to go to a dentist appointment. We heard about the attacks on the radio first. My brother laughed, thinking it was a joke, but my dad had no expression. He dropped us off at the dentist and watched the news from their break room. The whole time I was getting my teeth cleaned, I listened to the people working there freaking out. "Should we go home?" I heard one say. "No," the other replied, "we're in Georgia. We'll be fine."

I went back to my middle school and walked into my computer classroom. Ms McCabe's class. I walked in and told her the news. I had no idea how horrible it really was since I was so young, but her face nearly went white. I still remember how the room was dark and she turned on the TV and stood there with her hand over her mouth in shock as she watched the news stories. The loud speaker came on and told the teachers to turn off the TV's because it may be scaring the students and to conduct class as normal. No one knew what "normal" was anymore. I doubt we actually did any work that day.

After I came home, I was glued to the news for the rest of the night...the rest of the week, really. The images are still burned in my mind. I remember a few days later when I was in P.E. class and our coach took us outside, sat us underneath the oak trees, and told us something much more worse was going on than we could comprehend and that week would be one we would always remember. How right he was.

If you are doing the math, I was eleven years old on September 11th, which would make Sweet Boy only twelve. This was three years before we had even met. We have been dealing with the aftermath for ten years, the majority of my lifetime. I hardly remember a world before the terrorist attacks. Sure, I have childhood memories from years before, but I don't really remember what it was like to feel safe every single day. My family had a trip planned a few months down the line and my brothers, aged 16 and 13, asked not to go. They were scared to travel. They didn't want to fly or go very far away from home anymore. We stayed home because we were terrified of what may be next.

I can't believe it has been ten whole years. It really seems to hit home now that I am months away from being an Army wife. I am so proud of my Sweet Boy who stepped up to protect our country, six or seven years after the terrorist attack. Today our country mourns for those we lost. We fly our flags at half mass. We remember where we were. And we ask everyone,
"Where were you?"

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