An American's Remembrance

     It seems fitting to make an entry today, as our nation remembers that fateful day 11 years ago when that horrible, gruesome, tragedy hit our nation, forever changing our lives.
     At the time, my family and I lived at Dover Air Force Base, Dover, DE.
     I remember my husband, who was at that time an active duty Air Force fireman, calling me from work and told me to turn on the news. As I looked in horror at the first tower alight in smoke and flames, the second plane hit. I whispered "oh my God. That is no accident."
     With the base on full alert, I drove the 3 miles to my daughter's elementary school. They had ushered the children to the auditorium and I remember the look of fear in their eyes when I opened the door. It took every ounce of my being not to grab my daughter's best friend, Sammy, but I knew if I waited much longer I might not be able to get back home on the base.
      I remember being at my friend and next door neighbor's house with the 5 kids. As we tried to keep them occupied and their minds off of the terrible tragedy I couldn't stop thinking about what type of dangers our husband's would soon be in. Suddenly, it became oh so real what "sacrifice" was really going to mean.
     We spent a lot of time praying. Praying for the victims lost, their families who must be racked with anguish. Praying for answers, for comfort, for understanding. To this day, I pray for a family of 3 that I never met. You see, they were on the plane together. Mom, Dad and a 3 year old daughter. This family was much like mine but there was one big difference. They would not know the joy of watching their little girl grow up into a woman.
     Over the next few days, one became keenly aware of the quiet of  the sky's. The absence of commercial plane noise became eerie.
     I also remember the day I was on the telephone with my sister, standing outside when suddenly I heard the "whoosh, swoosh, whoosh" sound of the helicopters delivering the remains of the lives lost at the Pentagon. Their identification was to take place at the Dover Air Force Base morgue.
     I remember volunteering at the chapel,  preparing healthy food for the chapel staff in a feeble attempt to feel as if I were helping in some small way. The pain and sorrow deeply etched on their faces grew each day as they heroically tried to offer comfort to the victims families as they went through the process of "identification".
     With this great sorrow, I also remember a country pulling together. Sharing love and kindness. Churches overflowed with spiritual conviction. Old Glory flew on every corner, every house, adorning every shirt.
     For a brief while, we were a whole community united. United in patriotism and for love and concern for our fellow man.
    On this painful day, in honor and remembrance of those who lost their lives, and indeed, as we were all affected in some way, let us remember what it really means to appreciate and honor what it means to be an American. Let us all remember.