I know it’s late in the day, and no, I haven’t forgotten what today is. It’s the day after we buried my mother 11 years ago. My emotions were still running high when I turned on the TV and saw smoke coming from one of the Twin Towers. Glued to the set, I watched as the other tower had a sudden explosion coming from it. I watched and listened as the newscasters scrambled to report what was happening when they didn’t know themselves.

When the first tower started to collapse, it reminded me of a very elaborate movie set gimmick. Except this was for real. In my head I was screaming, “GET OUT, GET OUT, OH, PLEASE GET OUT!!” as if the people inside those buildings could hear me…as if they had to be told. Numb, I sat and watched as the other tower came down.

Finally, when there was nothing but billows of smoke, I got up and went to my Dad’s. We spent the afternoon delivering flowers from Mom’s grave to those that had helped the family during her struggle with cancer. It gave Dad a bit of peace to be able to give back to those that had helped him. It wasn’t just the flowers, but the Mason jars we put the flowers in were ones that Mom had used over the years when she canned vegetables. To Dad, each jar held a bit of her love.

No, none of us will forget what we were doing or where we were when we heard the news that day. I didn’t know anyone in the Towers, but my heart still goes out to the family and friends of everyone whose lives were taken.

Let us not forget—EVER—that we must be diligent to protect this great country. To not let those who pretend to come here looking for the freedom we enjoy destroy us, either from without or within.

God Bless America



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