September 11, 2001, was a special day for my family. My twin granddaughters were born two days before and planned to come home on the 11th. I couldn't wait to hold them, cuddle them and spoil them as only a grandma can do. They were tiny and swaddled tight, in other words, they resembled little burritos. Their nick name soon became the burrito babies!
I remember standing in my kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. The TV was on, a rarity for sure with my husband not at home. I usually listened to the stereo, but not that day, and I don't really know why. The urgency in the commentator's voice caught my attention. I glanced toward the TV and witnessed the destruction of the first tower. It seemed surreal, as if I watched a movie. My chest tightened, my body recoiling at the carnage catapulting to the ground. I had the overwhelming urge to help someone, anyone. In reflection, I think many of us felt the call to reach out to another.
My husband burst through the door, hollering at me to turn the TV on. He stepped into the room and the heartsick look on his face reflected my own. We watched in silence as the second tower collapsed. I think I was crying by then, I remember shaking my head no, no, no. This shouldn't be happening, my granddaughters were coming home. I had supper planned. We were to gather together and begin the spoiling of these beautiful babies. Instead we were praying for those caught in the maelstrom of terrorism.
Life has not been the same since 9/11, is a cliche, yet holds a deep truth none of us can deny. We've all learned to go on, many without our loved ones. This morning I watched the calling out of the names at ground zero. This tribute heals us and reminds us to always remember. We must stand together to fight this disease called terrorism. We can not allow it to grow. I want my granddaughters futures to be safe.
I want America to stand strong once more.
Til next time ~