I meant to post this on Sept. 11, but didn't make it to the computer that day. I did, however, manage to remember to fly the American flag.
I can't believe it's been 8 years since 9-11. I will never forget that day:
I was at home, then, Provo, Utah, and caring for the new demands of my 4-day-old baby. My sister-in-law called me from Portland, crying. I could barely make out what she was saying. She did manage to get out, "Turn on the news." I did and saw the shocking images of plane crashes and buildings and clouds of debris.
Already a whirlwind of post-partum emotions, this news of the twin towers caused me to gaze at the new baby in my arms and tearfully say to her, "What have I done? What kind of a world have I brought you in to?" I was scared for her. That famous image from Time magazine of that female refugee fleeing with her fellow countrymen, all the while clinging to her nursing babe, flooded my thoughts--would that be me in a few weeks/months?
My mother was planning to fly out the following day from the D.C. airport, to come help out with us and the new baby. I feared for her safety and called her to tell her not to come--it would be too dangerous. She said that we couldn't live in fear and that she was coming. She had to arrive at the airport like 5 hours before her flight and was given the search of searches, but she made it to us safely.
Now my baby is 8. I still fear for her safety but not so much from terrorist attacks. I worry more about attacks from peers and child predators, and the demoralization of America, in general. A lot has changed in 8 years. The greatest, for me, would be my capacity to love. My family, and the world, need that love now.
