Thoughts About 9/11

September 11, 2001, dawned like any other day.  I had been a preschool teacher for a whopping ONE WEEK.  At about 7:00 a.m. that day, my sister-in-law called me and told me to turn on the television. 

Briana had band practice that morning, so I took her to school shortly after the awful moment that a second plane struck the World Trade Center.  As we drove the .5 mile to her school, our 5th grader looked at me and said, "Mommy, what does 'hijacked' mean?"  My heart broke a little bit at that moment, as I realized that there would never be a time when our beautiful, innocent children would not know any more what "hijack" or "terrorism" meant.

But off to school we all went.  I had preschool and had to take care of a lot of 3- and 4-year-olds that day and for the next 2 days.  Parents came and went, tears and shock walking in and out of our home like ghosts.  And then it was Friday, September 14th.  Friday was when I stopped and watched the news.  Friday was when I listened to the tales of loss and grief.  Friday was when I saw the aftermath.  The rest of the world had been dealing with the horror for 4 days, but for me it was new and fresh and biting.

Friday was my day to get everything done.  I was running errands in a haze of grief.  All day. I remember crying at the drive-up at the bank, and the sweet teller shared her testimony of the Savior's loving care.  Dear sweet bank teller:  Do you know that it was you that helped me begin the healing?

On September 11, 2002, I took our children to the University of Utah to make a huge, human flag.  Ironically, it was one of the most fun things we ever did together.  But we remembered.

We still remember.