May I Never Forget

For what it’s worth, I don’t remember where I was September 11, 2001.

I don’t have a time capsule memory of where I was when the first plane made impact with the North Tower. I can’t tell you what it felt like when someone rushed in to tell me to turn the TV on or to turn up the radio. I simply don’t remember. I know- based on time, location, and routine alone - that I was seven years old, in second grade, living in Wyoming. I lived in the mountain time zone which meant at 8:46 EST when the first strike happened, my school day hadn’t even started yet - and by the time the last collapse occurred, I would have only been 30 minutes into my school day. Truthfully, I don’t even remember if I went to school that day. I just don’t remember.

Honestly, when admitting that, sometimes I feel like a “bad” American.

According to estimations - at least 20% of the population today wasn’t even alive for the events but I was. I was old enough to form memories, and I don’t remember. I mean, I remember my kindergarten Halloween party and the time someone spilled milk on my snowsuit and how annoyed I felt that the nurse had to wash it. I know those took place before September 2001 and I remember those moments clear as now but I don’t remember the moment the world simultaneously froze, reset, stopped, shattered, played in slow motion, and happened in a blink for so many people.

I’ve asked before why they (my parents) didn’t tell me the day of - overtime, Mom’s answer has made a lot of sense. Essentially it came down to this, how do you tell a child who already displayed signs of great empathy and high anxiety on a typical Tuesday that this Tuesday would change the world forever? How do you answer questions for a child whose favorite word was “why” when you had no answers to give? At the time, my parents were protecting me - in an effort to keep my world small, innocent, and bright - even if it just meant for one more day. I like to believe it’s because they knew as soon as I found out it may never fully be those three things again.

I do, however, remember when I learned what the rest of the world already knew. My mom says it was a few days after the fact. Again, I don’t know the exact date, but I do remember walking into my parents’ room to watch the events unfold on their 20 inch box TV that managed to fill the room like an IMAX theater. I watched as the news played “reruns” of the footage. I stood like a statue as my eyes watched men jump out of the windows as the towers caught fire. I didn’t know what any of it meant - I couldn’t grasp how any of it could be real.

Here’s what I do Remember:

I remember how airports changed. I remember going from being able to watch my Grammy walk off the plane and straight to us to having to wave behind the glass as my cousin made her way through TSA all within a years time.

I remember a friend of mine coming back from a trip to New York City and showing us photographs of Ground Zero. We were 11 years old then and even though we still didn’t understand it all we knew there was honor to be found in sunken ground and our class was silent.

I remember honoring civilians and first responders just as proudly as the soldiers that fought in their memory.

I remember tighter hugs and longer “I love yous.”

I remember learning the fear of “you never know when” through practicing lockdowns.

I remember watching soldiers wish their families Merry Christmas on ABC during the commercial slots of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer because they wouldn’t be home to say it in person.

I remember writing notes and building care packages.

I remember yearly writing prompts and slideshows of the same twenty images.

I also remember being the one responsible for teaching the new generation. I remember having to teach them the importance of this day as I read them stories like, “America is Under Attack” and “14 Cows for America” - in an effort to keep the memory alive. I remember being the adult that had to answer the “why” questions and still, 17 years later (at the time), having no idea what to say...because, I too, wanted them to be able to play the part in keeping America remembering while also trying to keep their world small, innocent, and bright - even if it just meant for one more day.

Now, here it is 20 years later.

Twenty years of life has happened. Twenty years of war and its aftermath has happened. Twenty years of individual, family, community, state, and nation wide pain has happened. But I promise you this, if you ask me where I was on the 20th anniversary of September 11th I will be able to tell you exactly where I was. And I pray, may I never forget.

I, because of being a member of AR Rock Squad, had the privilege of spending the 20th anniversary volunteering at the Little Rock Stair Climb. We were asked to serve as support and motivation to the climbers as they paid tribute to the 343 fallen firefighters of 9/11. I watched as men, women, and children chose to spend their Saturday morning wearing the names of heroes around their necks as a badge of honor. I watched as local and state first responders, their spouses, their children, and civilians alike took their place on the field of War Memorial Stadium, raised their hats to the Fireman’s Prayer, and began their march to the sound of bagpipes. I witnessed their smiles, their sweat, and their commitment as they kept climbing. I saw their utter exhaustion and pride as they stood at the end of their 110 flights of stairs (over 2000 steps) to honor the hero they climbed for and listened as they rang a bell in their memory.

May I never forget the tears that blurred my vision as the event director said, “You keep taking those steps, and when it gets hard you look back and you say thank you for letting me take one more step. You keep going and you keep saying thank you.”

May I never forget the mix of both somber silence and joyful celebration that filled the air as I watched Americans take each step in honor of the heroes that gave their lives in stairwells to do everything they could to live out the words “protect and serve.”

May I never forget the sound of the PASS devices echoing in the stadium to signify the very fallen firefighters they were climbing for.

May I never forget Stella, who at 7 years old (the same age I was when tragedy struck) made the 110 flight climb. When I asked her why she chose to climb today she said it was because her parents both work for the memorial organization and it was important to her. She ended with, “You know, not bad for a seven year old.” Not bad at all Stella, not bad at all.

May I never forget Amanda and Andrea, two volunteer firefighters who aren’t old enough (24 and 22 respectively) to have first hand memories of the event. Two women who serve today because they’re passionate about helping people. May I remember their smiles as they kept going to honor Manuel Mojica, Firefighter Squad 18 and Gerald Nevins, Firefighter Rescue 1 because that’s what they showed up to do. May I remember the small role of joy I was able to play with two sets of black and red pom poms on their final lap.

People talk about what America looked like on September 12, 2001.

They talk about the unity - the absolute patriotism, the honor, the compassion, and the camaraderie to hold tight, stand strong, and to rebuild. I saw a glimpse of that America today. I watched a squads, units, and families left no man behind, as strangers cheered for strangers. It didn’t matter if they were in full gear or in a tank top and shorts, a member of the PD, FD, EMS, or a local fitness group, Americans showed up today with one common purpose. The cheers and celebrations were the same for those that finished first and those that ended the day because it wasn’t a race - it was a true memorial.

Truly, I urge you, if you ever get the opportunity to attend, volunteer, or participate in a 9/11 stair climb - take it. You will see the very best parts of America.

Never Forget. Always Remember.

You see, even if I can’t tell you where I was when, I can tell you that unlike any historic tragedies before it, I didn’t have to be taught about 9/11 in history books - because its impact has always been a part of my life. From that day forward, every room I have walked in there has been at least one person that has had a direct connection to someone who was standing for our country because those towers fell. So no, I may not remember where I was September 11, 2001, but what I do know is I have lived in the America built from the ashes of Ground Zero every day since. The America that has been able to stand because it is committed to being The Home of the Brave.