“Where were you when the world stopped turning, on that September day?”
I was 18 the day the towers fell. I was new to adulthood, having lived a childhood where war was something my grandparents talked about, something my 3rd grade teacher mentioned during the Persian Gulf, something we learned about in history books.
What a gift it had been, to be an American Millennial child.
I remember being on campus, at the Student Activity Center, walking by a bank of televisions and watching the smoke from the first plane. I stopped and joined the growing group of students watching on in horror. I thought of the lives that had been lost by such a senseless accident – then I picked up the pace to make it to class on time. We heard the screams from across the building a short time later.
Campus was closed by noon.
Whether we fully comprehended what was going on at the time or not, we knew we had just been part of something significant. In a matter of two hours life had completely changed and the world would never be the same.
On that same campus, in that same building, the floor below – there was a future Marine watching the same thing unfold. He was a wrestler in the education program with aspirations of being a math teacher and a coach. Though it would be years before we met each other, those moments would set him on a different course…and I would spend my life following him.
You see, there is a small group of people that are made of something special. The kind of something that places themselves between others and disaster without hesitation. The kind of something that runs towards chaos with a sense of calm. The kind of something that scales buildings that are on fire over and over and over again to help get as many people out as possible before they fall.
That kind of something - otherwise called duty.
On that day there was an entire generation of young patriots awakened, having heard the call of those who came before them. The call to stand and defend against a new enemy, to ensure that our land would be kept free and remain a beacon of hope in a dark world.
These people have spent their entire adult lives at war.
Today, as our Nation feels as if it’s on the brink of darkness, people will pause and remember what this day is about. They will remember the families who lost loved ones, the heroes who ran into the fray, the people who stepped out in exceptional ways to care for each other, and those who sacrificed their own lives to protect others.
They will remember what September 11, 2001 and the days following felt like – when we were all American.
Do you remember what you swore to never forget?
As the years moved on, so did life. Time marched forward and the American public was lulled back into complacency. Unless you were in it, you had no idea of knowing. American pace of life doesn’t allow time for us to see much past our own nose. Deaths of service members barely made a blip on the 24hour news cycle before moving onto the next thing.
These years have been hard on our military communities as they live in an America that is in many ways parallel to their civilian counterparts. Our Nation fought dual wars and the goal post continued to move, however, most people had no thought of the husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons, or daughters we were sending to war. A few years ago we passed a horrendous benchmark: most new recruits had been born after the war they were training for started. These individuals had never known a time when their country wasn’t engaged in conflict. An entire lifetime at war.
In some ways, it could be seen as a blessing that most civilians are able to live so freely and without care. It means our heroes are doing a good job of keeping the storm at bay - dancing with the Devil to keep him at arms-length. "...so that other's may live free..."
On 9/11 – the curtain was removed – and American civilians saw full well what hell is like.
The curtain was shifted again in these last few weeks with Biden’s handling of the withdrawal from Afghanistan. The “end” of this war brought no joy. Only more death and politicking.
As the mission to end the war was blundered by the White House and State Department at every level, our military and private citizens rallied to accomplish great things. Veteran and spouse back channels were activated to move and evacuate as many allies and American citizens as possible. Information was shared in real time over private groups, chats, and text messages. I watched in awe as the “Marine Spouse Mafia” worked every single contact and network they had to get as many people as they could to safety.
“I’m looking for a Hail Mary, here!” “The wife just gave birth; they’re hiding the baby so the Taliban doesn’t take it. How can we get them to the gate?” “Gate XXX is now sealed and won’t be opened back up, don’t send people there.”
This was not specific to the Marine Corps, far from it. Every veteran and spouse network of every branch was working to do what our executive branch couldn’t be bothered to do: the right thing.
Benjamin Franklin wasn’t entirely right when he spoke of “death and taxes,”; he left out politicians. You can always trust a politician to capitalize on a crisis they caused while they grandstand on the backs of service members. Time and distance will allow for full accounting of the failures of the Afghanistan withdrawal, and experts will give their $1000 opinions. My guess is even the most ardent supporters of this administration will come to agree with what most service members, vets, and their families already know: the withdrawal was a failure of epic proportions.
As I sat and looked at the faces of the kids who had been killed during the withdrawal in Afghanistan, I was struck by their ages. Most of them were barely toddlers when 9/11 happened. Babies. They have no memories of planes, buildings, or walking across campus. They had no life separate from a nation at war.
This war was their lifetime.
On this day when we’re instructed to pause and remember – I would encourage you to remember those out there who never forget.
I once read a story about a veteran who carried an old cigarette with him everywhere he went, even though it had been years since he quit smoking. It was from his last smoke break, with his friend, shortly before his friend was killed by an IED. That cigarette, a reminder of a bond forged in hell. A constant reminder of his brother in arms.
“’Til Valhalla,” is a phrase often used in these circles where reminders are carried quietly in the form of boot bands under watches, dog tags in a pocket, or challenge coins tucked in a sleeve…their meaning and weight lost to anyone on the outside.
“Your pin.” I had seen this pin a few short weeks and knew what it meant. A decade, 4 moves, and years apart later – we were stationed in North Carolina and I found myself at a small cigar shop picking up a birthday present to package and send to my husband while he was on a boat. The man in front of me crinkled his eyes at me as he took his cigar out of his mouth and tucked the pin back into his pocket. He hadn’t meant for anyone to see it.
“You know this?”
His accent was thick and it was then that I noticed the faded remnants of violence on his arms, neck, and face. I nodded, letting him know how. He passed it to me, placing it carefully in my hand. “It’s for my friend.” he said with sadness in his eyes. The pin I had seen on my brother’s uniform had been shiny, new – this one had been well-worn – tucked away in the shirt pocket of a Cuban refugee. A lifetime of wear, of weight. The man didn’t have to say anything else. In those moments shared between friends and loved ones who have been left behind, what has been done doesn’t have to be spoken.
Today is the 20th anniversary of an event that shaped our world and had a direct impact on the lives of nearly every person I love. As we sit quietly and reflect on what was, what will come, and our role in these events – I can’t help but be…tired…and heartbroken.
There is no joy in the memory of this day and no celebration in ultimate retribution. Rather – there are 20 years of memories, of moments, threads of stories woven together. Some good, some that stole breaths away, some that highlight the best of humanity, and others that will haunt forever.
Less than two months after 9/11 Alan Jackson debuted a song asking “where were you…”
20 years ago, the world watched as America was met with the worst she had ever faced against her people. They watched as we rose to the challenge, offering the best of humanity. Though our Nation has changed drastically over the last 20 years we still see that same humanity play out every single day.
We are not our broken and abusive leaders, we are not corrupt politicians and appointed officials, we are not secret banks, boards, and trust-fund babies, nor are we the morally corrupt in Hollywood and Wall Street.
We are our neighbors, our friends, our families, our lovers. We, the People, are the soul of this great Nation and the conscience of this world. We are the doctors and nurses, the teachers, the parents, the small business owners, and frontline workers. We are the children sent to war for a grateful nation.
Jackson ended his song, reviewing his faith - “I know Jesus, I talk to God. I remember this from when I was young. Faith, hope, and love are some good things he gave us. The greatest is love.” Perhaps the “greatness” in our unique American society lies in our ability to love.
“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13
I pray that God be with the families of those lost on that fateful September morning and that He bless those who sacrificed themselves for another. That He comfort those who served in the years that followed, and that He inspire in each of us the desire to be worthy of the sacrifices made on our behalf.
God be with us, today, and always. Let us not falter but be a beacon of hope in these dark times.
