Last night a new kid in town asked me what happens around this city on 9/11. Detached, I listed off the options - St. Johns or National Cathedral services, possible monument memorial events, moments of silence in the morning, Pentagon Memorial Dedication with the President and Cabinet Members, Pentagon floodlights once it's dark enough to see them. And it occurred to me that for the first time this year - for the first time in seven years - the city hasn't felt different for these days leading up to September 11th. I haven't felt different. I haven't thought about it with my usual looming nausea.
I've had trouble waking up lately and have been hitting the snooze button a few times a morning before peeling myself out of bed. This morning, though, I woke up before my alarm and peaked out my window at the morning-gold striped clouds... searching, grasping, for a mourning that was just not there. And when I realized it wasn't, and knew how important it is to me that today remains meaningful and alive, I prayed for the privilege of carrying my portion of our nation's grief for one more year.
Tears came following a silent Amen.
I'm not a masochist. It's just that on September 11, 2001, I remember knowing in my very core that I would not - could not - ever be part of the masses that would let it go. I could not be part of the camp that thinks we should not pause on this day every year; that perhaps America's resolve is best displayed by moving on. I see this argument. I see why people think this. But I will not be one of them. Ever. I want my grandbabies to be able to see the same tears well in my eyes 50 years from now that did 7 years ago and do today.
So pardon me if my red striped shirt and lapel pin flag are over the top. Excuse me if "America the Beautiful" from my car stereo on the commute to work is irritatingly loud. Please forgive my inability to pull away from the 24 hour news network images from that morning.
And if I'm quiet, please leave me to remembering Mom waking me up in a panic that morning and pulling me into the study to see what none of us could understand. Allow me to remember what it felt like on September 11, 2002 to walk around the White House when a helicopter passed overhead and stopped every person on the street in their tracks to look up and reassure themselves it was allowed to be there. Let me reflect on Speaker Hastert's speech on the Southeast Steps on 9/11/06 when I really grasped that the Capitol dome overhead and my colleagues who worked inside were still there thanks to the "Let's Roll" attitude of Flight 93. And for today, let it be okay for me to desperately want to remember what I was worried about forgetting.
