"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
we will remember them."
-"For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon
Even though I'm not currently in the U.S., I keep myself updated with happenings back home through a number of electronic media including major news websites, international television news stations that actually broadcast in English and, of course, Facebook. These media serve as my means of staying "current" on events in my motherland. However, one thing for which I did not need to employ these resources was the commemoration of the 10 year anniversary of the day that, God willing, will never be surpassed as the most fearful and eerie day of my life.
I cannot name any American (alive at that point) who cannot remember exactly where they were when they came to discover the news that our country was under attack from a terrorist group that I had never even heard of at that point.
Because the Punxsutawney Area School District teachers were on strike that year, school was not yet in session. I was to begin my junior year earlier that September at the age of 16. Had I been in classes that day, my story would have been different.
The news that the first tower of the World Trade Center had come from the mouth of my dad. We had just returned to the house from the morning chores as my family owns and operates a small dairy farm in west-central Pennsylvania. He called me into the room where he was watching television with my youngest brother, who was only 3 at the time. He briefly explained what was happening before we continued to watch live as another plane struck the second tower. We took in the images shown us in disbelief as we heard my toddler brother say "a lot of people just died right there." As the day went on, the news kept coming: the Pentagon had also been struck, the crash of Flight 93 in a rural field a bit too close for comfort to our own home in Pennsylvania, the crumbling of three World Trade Center buildings, the collapse of a section of the Pentagon. The feeling of helplessness and fear took hold of a nation, and I was no exception.
I also remember that afternoon following the events earlier that I was helping my dad husk corn that my grandmother was to freeze and can. We sat on the bed of his pick-up truck with the radio turned on. Instead of his usual classic rock playing, we heard news coverage of the day's tragedies as well as patriotic songs that would rarely be heard otherwise. All planes were grounded throughout the country that day, which added even more to the eerie stillness and silence that ensued. It was a feeling that I hope to never experience again.
Images of the efforts in New York from the police and fire departments to rescue and recover those fallen plagued the television over the next days and weeks. It seemed as though every video became still frames that embedded themselves in my memory as I can still see the bodies being carried out of the rubble and the smoky site of what used to be the two tallest buildings in the world.
I reminisced about this day with some of my colleagues here in Ethiopia. I don't find it difficult to believe that people from all parts of the world also remember where they were and the fear that they felt, even though an attack on his or her own country was not being reported. Even though the U.S. was the target of these particular events, all those who fell victim were not American. One morning changed the entire world forever.
Although I did not need any type of media to remind me of the anniversary of this horrible day, I found a particularly touching homily of a priest who returned home to God at Ground Zero along with approximately 3,000 others. As I read through the text of the speech given at his funeral, I was reminded of one of those images that have lodged themselves into my memory. I was unaware that the image below (apparently known by some as the "American pieta") had such a story connected to it. It was one of the most beautiful eulogies I've ever heard or read, but it serves as only one story in the collection of the beautiful lives sacrificed for the sake of terror and selfishness.
I'll close this entry with a few words from Fr. Mychal's homily that I believe have been embodied by the American people following September 11th, 2001, whether they realize it or not. The resilience of our nation in the past ten years makes me continue to carry a certain gratitude that I was born American.
From the Book of Lamentations quoted in Fr. Mychal Judge's funeral homily: “The favors of the Lord are not exhausted. His mercies are not spent. Every morning, they are renewed. Great is his faithfulness. I will always trust in him.”
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
we will remember them."
-"For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon
Even though I'm not currently in the U.S., I keep myself updated with happenings back home through a number of electronic media including major news websites, international television news stations that actually broadcast in English and, of course, Facebook. These media serve as my means of staying "current" on events in my motherland. However, one thing for which I did not need to employ these resources was the commemoration of the 10 year anniversary of the day that, God willing, will never be surpassed as the most fearful and eerie day of my life.
I cannot name any American (alive at that point) who cannot remember exactly where they were when they came to discover the news that our country was under attack from a terrorist group that I had never even heard of at that point.
Because the Punxsutawney Area School District teachers were on strike that year, school was not yet in session. I was to begin my junior year earlier that September at the age of 16. Had I been in classes that day, my story would have been different.
The news that the first tower of the World Trade Center had come from the mouth of my dad. We had just returned to the house from the morning chores as my family owns and operates a small dairy farm in west-central Pennsylvania. He called me into the room where he was watching television with my youngest brother, who was only 3 at the time. He briefly explained what was happening before we continued to watch live as another plane struck the second tower. We took in the images shown us in disbelief as we heard my toddler brother say "a lot of people just died right there." As the day went on, the news kept coming: the Pentagon had also been struck, the crash of Flight 93 in a rural field a bit too close for comfort to our own home in Pennsylvania, the crumbling of three World Trade Center buildings, the collapse of a section of the Pentagon. The feeling of helplessness and fear took hold of a nation, and I was no exception.
I also remember that afternoon following the events earlier that I was helping my dad husk corn that my grandmother was to freeze and can. We sat on the bed of his pick-up truck with the radio turned on. Instead of his usual classic rock playing, we heard news coverage of the day's tragedies as well as patriotic songs that would rarely be heard otherwise. All planes were grounded throughout the country that day, which added even more to the eerie stillness and silence that ensued. It was a feeling that I hope to never experience again.
Images of the efforts in New York from the police and fire departments to rescue and recover those fallen plagued the television over the next days and weeks. It seemed as though every video became still frames that embedded themselves in my memory as I can still see the bodies being carried out of the rubble and the smoky site of what used to be the two tallest buildings in the world.
I reminisced about this day with some of my colleagues here in Ethiopia. I don't find it difficult to believe that people from all parts of the world also remember where they were and the fear that they felt, even though an attack on his or her own country was not being reported. Even though the U.S. was the target of these particular events, all those who fell victim were not American. One morning changed the entire world forever.
Although I did not need any type of media to remind me of the anniversary of this horrible day, I found a particularly touching homily of a priest who returned home to God at Ground Zero along with approximately 3,000 others. As I read through the text of the speech given at his funeral, I was reminded of one of those images that have lodged themselves into my memory. I was unaware that the image below (apparently known by some as the "American pieta") had such a story connected to it. It was one of the most beautiful eulogies I've ever heard or read, but it serves as only one story in the collection of the beautiful lives sacrificed for the sake of terror and selfishness.
I'll close this entry with a few words from Fr. Mychal's homily that I believe have been embodied by the American people following September 11th, 2001, whether they realize it or not. The resilience of our nation in the past ten years makes me continue to carry a certain gratitude that I was born American.
From the Book of Lamentations quoted in Fr. Mychal Judge's funeral homily: “The favors of the Lord are not exhausted. His mercies are not spent. Every morning, they are renewed. Great is his faithfulness. I will always trust in him.”
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