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Writer's Block: 9/11
Sep. 11th, 2008 04:33 pm[Error: unknown template qotd]
I was at work, busy scanning the concrete floor of an abandoned building for alpha contamination. My mother, who worked with me, came in from running to the local Wal-Mart for supplies, and she told us that she had heard on the radio in the van that a plane had hit the WTC. She didn't have any more details than that, and we kind of thought it was a small plane. It has happened before, so we really didn't think much of it.
A little bit later, the radio on Mom's hip crackled, and the site manager told us all to secure our areas and report to the main office building immediately. We did so, and we were told briefly what happened, and then the television was turned on and we watched the buildings for a few minutes. We were then informed that because of Cushing's status on the terrorist hit list, we were welcome to take the rest of the day off with pay and leave if we felt more comfortable doing so. See, Cushing is a small town, but it is filled and surrounded by oil tank farms, and every major oil pipeline in country crosses under this town, hence the name "Pipeline Crossroads Of The World." Those two facts have placed Cushing on many a hit list. Mom and I opted to come home. I stopped by the daycare on the way home and scooped up Smog, who was not quite three years old at that point. We came home and turned on the television and didn't turn it off for the next few days. Smog watched the towers collapse, and his words at that moment will be remain etched into my heart:" Mama, those people need help. Their castle is falling down." For being so young, he grasped the magnitude of it pretty well.
The next few days were spent watching news reports and listening to the sound of fighter jets flying patrol over the city. We cried until there were no more tears, and then we sobbed until there was no more breath. Then we waited for life to return to normal, equal parts eager for it to happen and certain that it never would.
For most of us, life has returned to normal. We complain about tightened security restrictions and pin a flag on our lapels in the middle of September and shake our heads when people use the disaster for political and monetary gain. The human spirit is a resiliant thing when it comes to catastrophe. We bruise, we heal, and we pick back up and start life again. If we lived with the constant palor of pain, we'd be unable to survive. I have bruised and healed from many things in my life, but 9/11 left scars with me that I think shall carry with me forever. I don't want to completely heal. I don't want to forget. I want always be angry and saddened at the depravity that humans are capable of. Part of me is afraid that the day we stop being angry about it is the day it becomes acceptable to us, and that I will never allow.
Today, I pray for peace for those left behind. I pray that the good memories of their loved ones are in their minds more than the sadness of their loss. I pray that we never forget.
I was at work, busy scanning the concrete floor of an abandoned building for alpha contamination. My mother, who worked with me, came in from running to the local Wal-Mart for supplies, and she told us that she had heard on the radio in the van that a plane had hit the WTC. She didn't have any more details than that, and we kind of thought it was a small plane. It has happened before, so we really didn't think much of it.
A little bit later, the radio on Mom's hip crackled, and the site manager told us all to secure our areas and report to the main office building immediately. We did so, and we were told briefly what happened, and then the television was turned on and we watched the buildings for a few minutes. We were then informed that because of Cushing's status on the terrorist hit list, we were welcome to take the rest of the day off with pay and leave if we felt more comfortable doing so. See, Cushing is a small town, but it is filled and surrounded by oil tank farms, and every major oil pipeline in country crosses under this town, hence the name "Pipeline Crossroads Of The World." Those two facts have placed Cushing on many a hit list. Mom and I opted to come home. I stopped by the daycare on the way home and scooped up Smog, who was not quite three years old at that point. We came home and turned on the television and didn't turn it off for the next few days. Smog watched the towers collapse, and his words at that moment will be remain etched into my heart:" Mama, those people need help. Their castle is falling down." For being so young, he grasped the magnitude of it pretty well.
The next few days were spent watching news reports and listening to the sound of fighter jets flying patrol over the city. We cried until there were no more tears, and then we sobbed until there was no more breath. Then we waited for life to return to normal, equal parts eager for it to happen and certain that it never would.
For most of us, life has returned to normal. We complain about tightened security restrictions and pin a flag on our lapels in the middle of September and shake our heads when people use the disaster for political and monetary gain. The human spirit is a resiliant thing when it comes to catastrophe. We bruise, we heal, and we pick back up and start life again. If we lived with the constant palor of pain, we'd be unable to survive. I have bruised and healed from many things in my life, but 9/11 left scars with me that I think shall carry with me forever. I don't want to completely heal. I don't want to forget. I want always be angry and saddened at the depravity that humans are capable of. Part of me is afraid that the day we stop being angry about it is the day it becomes acceptable to us, and that I will never allow.
Today, I pray for peace for those left behind. I pray that the good memories of their loved ones are in their minds more than the sadness of their loss. I pray that we never forget.
