Wednesday, September 11, 2013

This morning started out just like any other morning. I finally woke up after hitting the snooze button a few too many times, threw on a clean pair of scrubs, put some make up on and brushed my teeth. I went into Landon’s room to wake him up, waited for him to squirm and stretch, and finally sit up in his crib before stretching his sleepy arms for me to pick him up. I carried him downstairs, sat him on the counter and handed him a squeeze yogurt while I warmed up his pancakes. John was still here this morning. Josie has been having back problem so he stuck around to give her her cocktail of pain medicine and a steroid, made sure she’s okay and helped me out with Landon. I finished the last minute prep for our lunches, loaded the car, and buckled Landon into his carseat.  Then I went back in, grabbed my coffee, keys, iphone, and sunglasses. John was backing out of the driveway and out of sight before I really realized it. As I slid into my seat, I buckled my seat belt, checked my phone (why I don’t know), and finally turned the key and started backing down the driveway. It took a second for it to register what was on the radio. But immediately my heart sank.

“Where where you when the world stopped turning, on that September day…”

I immediately recognized the Alan Jackson song and it registered that this morning is not just any other morning. It is the 12th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on our nation.

Of course I remember exactly where I was. I was fourteen. Fourteen. I was just a kid, I couldn’t even drive, I was sitting in biology class. Its funny to me, because I feel like it just happened yesterday, but that girl? That girl seems like a lifetime ago. Now I’m a mom. That’s how long its been, a fourteen year old girl is now married and a mom. Surely it hasn’t been twelve years.

I glanced at the clock once I got to work and realized it was just about the time the first plane hit. So this is what it was like that morning.

Everyone was just going about their lives. Packing lunches, waking up sleepy kids, rushing to get out the door. That’s how it started. They dropped their kids off at school, daycare, or the sitters house, and went to work…just like any other morning. They had no idea what was about to happen. They had no idea when they clocked in at work they were walking into what would be the scene of one of the most tragic events in our nation’s history. They had no idea, because it started out like any other morning.

That sits heavy on me.

And I think that now that I’m a mom, it sits heavy on me in such a different way. For the moms who dropped their kids off and went to work in the WTC, for the moms who dropped their kids off at school at Sandy Hook Elementary, for the moms that woke up that morning ready to run the Boston Marathon.

As moms we want nothing more than to protect our sweet families from the evil that undoubtedly exists in this world, we want to wrap our arms around them tight and keep them safe. But what do we do when we can’t?

I’ve thought a lot today about the mamas affected by these events while I’ve watched from the safety of my little home. I’m sure they would give ANYTHING to have “just any other morning” with their kids. To wake up and it all have just been some nightmare. The truth is that twelve years later, while the rest of the world has kept on going, there are moms out there that are still trying to catch their breath and get by day to day, grieving from the events that they have endured.

So this anniversary, I’m remembering those mamas, those mamas who may have lost their husbands, or those mamas who lost their lives. I’m remembering, that 12 years later, there are mamas out there that are still trying to get used to life post-9/11. There are kids out there that are still adjusting to new normal of not having a parent at moments when they need them the most. There are families who would give anything to wake up and have things be just like any other morning.

I hope that every. single. morning. I remember how lucky I truly am to have those mornings. That there in the rushing and craziness there is a blessing. That packing a lunch (as much as I groan about it) is a blessing. That watching my son eat breakfast while sitting on the countertop is a blessing. I will gladly take it like this. I will gladly let my life be filled with these mornings.

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