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I thought yesterday. I told my children yesterday. Ten years ago I didn’t have them. Ten years and a day ago I was a kid, in college. The horror was real but everything carried less weight and there was more time. Time for the world to sort things out, for wrongs to be righted, but maybe that was just naivety.
I remember that day. Watching the first plane hit on the library computer. What is going on? Walking to class, TV in the corner by the coffee stand, second plane hits. We are under attack. Numb but nowhere to go but class. Why doesn’t the teacher care? Shouldn’t he have some wisdom, reassurance to share with us, the young. Huddled around the lone cell phone, we wait. Tower comes down, we walk out. Into what? Wander the campus, groups gather to pray, we talk, trying to make sense . . . Drive home and I cry for the broken families.
And then there was the beauty. The hush of grief and loyalty that fell upon the country. Stripes, stars, floating from every home, over roads, through dreams . . . We spoke to eachother, drew together, knew the next move mattered. Life was a gift, freedom precious, hope stirred and intentions shone.
But what gets lost along the way? I’m grateful my children have not known a 9/11, but they know fathers gone to war and friends, family without jobs. They know rules and regulations but I don’t know what the world will look like for them. And what can a parent ever do but try to give them the tools they need? Hold them and teach them and pray that this crazy globe holds it together for a few more turns but still gives them space to fly.
I’m scared we have misplaced our way a bit. But then again I can’t see the whole chess board or maybe I just don’t know how to play the game. And always the timer ticks, our turn and then theirs. I teach them history, science, math. They look at the images asking me Why? and a million more questions. I don’t have the answers.
The pool at the site is so beautiful and fitting. No matter the tragedy there will always be that dark, unending hole bringing us to our knees. Yet the water washes clean and moves us on. comforting. renewing. The smoke settles and the dust clears. We are always stepping out into that new day. What will we do with it?
