13 Years Later

There are some things about the day that are fuzzy in my memory while so many others are clear. I remember where I was. I remember the way the air felt and the surprise at what I thought was a joke. It was Super Tuesday at Georgia Military College and my then husband and I were busy with our duties as we prepared new cadets for entry to GMC. I was 20 years old and even then my marriage had been strained. I wanted desperately to think that somehow a tragedy such as the one that was unfolding would bring us closer together. It did not. And although there are things that I can’t remember. I remember the feelings. The words transmitted over our walkie talkies come in and out of focus in my mind, but I definitely remember the sky, walking across an asphalted lot that is no longer in existence. Innocence lost.

This morning as I remembered where I was on the 9/11 I couldn’t help but to feel, for a few moments, the very way I did when I, in the twilight of my youth, that somehow the world as we knew it was ending. I’d never known war, I’ve never known what it meant to fear an imposing and sometimes faceless enemy. In those moments and during parts of today, it was again real. I don’t know what’s true, sensationalized or misreported when it comes to life in other countries. And having grown up in both the US and Jamaica, I knew and felt American pride in every fiber of my being. How dare they come and strike fear into the hearts of our people. How dare they take away the feeling of peace and tranquility. The feeling of ignorance now gone I see life much differently. Maybe 13 years have passed, and maybe we’ve in many ways returned to the way that we live, almost as if that day had never happened. But it’s on days like this where we remember. We remember. We feel. Life is much different and yet things are still the same. Politics be damned, no one should come into your home and make you feel unsafe. That is what happened and that’s what I’ll never forget.

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