day 180: a gray day in my memory

At first, everything seemed normal about that day. Mundane, almost. Aaron and I had left our apartment at about the same time, headed to different parts east--me to IUPUI, him to Raytheon to work. Yet it didn't take long sitting in my philosophy of education class while watching a monotonous video for me to tell that something was amiss. Someone came in, hurriedly whispered to the prof, who then turned the movie off without warning. We wanted to cheer, but something told us not to. I can recall her exact, simple words to this day: "New York City has been attacked. You all need to go home."

Instead of following her set of instructions, most of us quickly filed into the teacher resource room, the closest one equipped with cable tv. There we watched what was happening, live, right before our unbelieving eyes. I remember being dumbstruck, as if it were some movie someone had slipped into the DVD player. That was really happening? On American soil?

Right then, in that day and age where cell phones were not as common as the general population, I immediately realized the need for one. I had to call Aaron. Right then. One of my classmates had a cell, which was frantically being passed around the room, from person to person. When it was my turn, I shakily dialed his work number. I was scared, uncertain, and trying to make sense of the history unfolding in front of me. Aaron's voice on the other end was a mirror image of mine. He was already sobbing, just as terrified. Since his company, a civilian contractor for the Department of Defense, was on lockdown, he had no idea when he'd be released to come home. I, on the other hand, was headed straight there.

That drive home is ingrained in my memory. All seemed calm. Eerily calm. At a standstill. Driving past the Indianapolis International Airport was the oddest thing. Normally a hub of activity, it was morbidly quiet.

The rest of the day found me on the couch, helplessly glued to the tv screen, crying, and wrapped up in a blanket. When Aaron finally made it home, we left right away, all to wait over an hour to fill up the car with outrageously-priced-per-gallon gas. Our second stop found us the new owners of a cell phone, one we would share. Somehow, today's events begged us to make sure that no matter where we were, we could reach the other within seconds. That seemed to matter more than anything. Our final stop was to a gun shop--a place that I didn't even bother questioning "why" before we bought two. For I knew, deep down, that the events from hours earlier would change the entire threshold of the rest of our lives.

Indeed, it did.

Gone was our trust for people in general.

Our not judging someone simply because of the trademarks of his religion.

Our sense of security.

Our nation that lived in peace with the rest of the world.

Today, 10 years later, our nation is at war. Fighting to defend our freedoms. Still. All because of that day.

Today, 10 years later, our home has grown by 3. But their Daddy is gone, fighting in that war. Still. All because of that day.

Today, 10 years later, it's still awfully hard for me to remember. It causes an ache in my chest that just doesn't get any easier to bear. Still. All because of that day.

I couldn't read the special articles in the newspaper this morning. Instead, I pulled out the comic section. That, I read. Not because they were funny this time, but they were easy, quick, and yet poignant at the same time, bringing me to tears. And that was enough.

Couldn't bring myself to watch those special documentaries on tv. Instead, I flipped to the football games. Those, I watched. Not because they were a total avoidance of today's history; rather, their beginnings moved me to tears. And that was enough.

Tomorrow is September 12th. Always my favorite reminder that life goes on, despite the horrors of what happened on that ugly, gray day. It means that tomorrow, I'll read this book to my classes, just like I have been doing each and every year, and then we'll move on, too.

We will move on. But we'll just never, ever, forget.