Remembering our lives one decade ago

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat, Weekend on September 9, 2011


Is there any question whatsoever of what is on the collective mind of our nation this week? Is there any doubt where our hearts linger and lie? The anguish and dismay, and for many, the bitterness and anger are as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.


In a moment, in several long, slow motion moments on that sobering morning of September 11, 2001, our lives and our iconic landscape were utterly devastated. That was a decade ago: ten long years, gone in a flash. Where have they gone, and what have we done?


Don’t we all remember that stunned silence? The watching in horror as the events unfolded and as one was foiled. Whether or not we were there or lost a loved one or feared losing a loved one, we were all affected. Our hearts were one in grief and in courage. We were united as a nation. We were not Anything-Americans then. We were under attack. We were hurting. We were helping each other. We were one.


All of us, those who are old enough to remember, know just where we were and what we were doing when we got the news. Those images are indelibly etched in our minds.


When I visit the elementary school to have lunch with my youngest children, I look at our bustling and chatty young population. Very few of these children were born on September 11, 2001. Yet, they have all been touched in some way or the other.


A classmate of my son tells me his dad is in the military and that he will have to go far, far away in just a few days. This child is in second grade. It makes me wonder about the children a world away. What have their lives been? What has the entirety of their existence and experience been? And what will they grow up thinking and believing?


An innocence has been lost. Once gone, it can never be reclaimed. Just longed for, and wept over. We are older and wiser and more cautious. We are more guarded. Do we love as easily and trust as much? Or do we do more so now, knowing that life is but moments linked together. At any point, those links can be broken. So we hang on to each moment, and we live life fully.


Ten years ago, we were newcomers to a suburb of Columbus, Ohio. It was September 11th, and the only significance it had for me then, early that morning, was that the next day was my birthday.


I had only the four children then, and the thought of turning 35 made me feel old. After the day’s tragedies unfolded, there was no thought of silly birthdays. There was the eeriness of those silent skies for days afterward. There were the scenes of plumes of dust and ash and terrified people running through the streets.


There was only the sudden and sobering realization that we have no guarantee of anything. We ought to embrace the day – today is the only day we have, and even that, we don’t know fully.


I look back ten years ago, and wonder how I was so foolish as to feel that old age, parading as the number 35, was encroaching upon me. Even though it’s trite, it’s true: Today is the youngest we’re ever going to be. For the young people who can’t wait to grow up, it’s a consolation. For those of us trying to cling to our former figures and fresher faces, it should make us joyful. Today, we are younger than we will ever be. Today we are alive. Today. That’s what we have. That’s all we have. Let us make the most of it.

Let us not forget, but let us forgive, and move forward. Let us bring healing to those with hurting hearts. Let us honor the memories of all who lost their lives on that horrifying day and in those days that followed, and in the many years since.


Tomorrow, should our Maker allow us to dwell here on His footstool for another day, will be new and fresh and bright with hope and promise. Let us be a part of that. Lord, let us be peacemakers.