12 years later.

I remember.

I woke up this morning a little earlier than I did 12 years ago today. Some things are similiar. I'm alone in my apartment. I'm not working today. My family is spread out in various cities. It's a warm, sunny day. And in a little bit, I'll go to the church to do a little work. God willing, that's where the similaries end.

I remember that I feel asleep on my couch with the TV on. When I was aware of that fact it was early on September 11, 2001. I could hear Matt Lauer talking and breaking some news about an explosion in one of the towers. I sat up and rubbed my eyes and reached over to pick up my glasses. It seems as though as soon as I put them on and could see clearly that my first image of that day was the same as many others: the second plane.

I sat captivated and horrified for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, I had the need to speak to my parents, my siblings, and my then-boyfriend, who was across the country serving in the Unites States Navy.

Dad was on the road to Pensacola. Mom was in the doctor's office with my Grandmother. Jessica was at work. Curt was at home. Everyone said the same thing. "I'm ok." But we weren't. No one was ok. My brother was the first to really express this. I remember him saying that he just didn't want to be alone. Neither did I. I checked in at Trinity to see if anything needed to be done, but they were in the same shape as everyone else at that point. I forced myself to get up and get dressed, get food, and go meet Curt as he opened up the fly-fishing shop he worked in. Even that early in the day flags were flying. On every house and building. Little flags were stuck nearly any thing that would hold one. They were everywhere. I spent the next couple of hours with Curt and a few other folks that came into the shop. I don't think anyone bought anything. Just came in and talked and cried and shook their heads and watched the TV that we'd rolled into the store from the office.

After some of his fellow workers came in and we'd forced down some food, I drove to the church. By that point Dad had called and ordered the church doors open and said he was on the way back and there would be a service that evening. I went home and helped with the phone tree to get the word out. Along the way, more flags. More churches with their doors wide open and signs saying 'open for prayer'. And, later that evening, Trinity, along with every other church, synagogue, temple, and mosque were full. And it would stay that way for days.

I couldn't go to sleep that night. I think I was afraid to close my eyes. I checked in with the folks I loved one more time for the day and lay there fighting sleep, until it mercifically won and that horrible day was over.

I don't remember what I did 12 days ago. But I remember every minute this day 12 years ago. And I know my story and my memories are not unique. As I write this I can hear the names of the more than 3,000 people being read again from the site of the attacks. My parents woke up this morning in New York City. The rest of us are still spread out. In Fairhope, getting ready for a morning at pre-school, there are 2 little boys that have no idea why this day is important, and thankfully have never seen such horror. Facebook is flooded with pictures, stories, and rememberances. And there's some football and cartoons and birthday wishes thrown in as well. And that's good, because we do more forward. But, this day and those images are burned in our memories forever. It doesn't take much for the tears to flow. Emotions remain raw and at the surface. And, in my opinion, they should.

We can't forget. We just can't. 12 years ago there were words and names like Al Qaeda and Hamas and Hezbollah that we didn't know how to pronounce much less know what they are. We've seen over a decade of war. The flags went back inside. Church doors are not open day and night. We're back to fighting among ourselves. But today, somehow, even if for just a moment, we are united again. In pain. In resolve. In growth. In determination. In prayer. As humans. As Americans.

Sometime today, do something in honor of those who died and worked to save others. Take cookies to the firestation. Plant flowers in your neighborhood. Give blood. Stop work a little early and go on a picnic with your family. Laugh, alot, with children who don't know yet why today usually brings tears. Say a prayer. Light a candle. Make something beautiful. Cry. Read the names. Watch the footage.

Remember. Always remember.

 "Almighty God, who brings good out of evil and turns even the wrath of your children towards your promised peace: Hear our prayers this day as we remember those of many nations and differing faiths whose lives were cut short by the fierce flames of anger and hatred. Hasten the time when the menace of war shall be removed. Cleanse both us and those perceived to be our enemies of all hatred and distrust. Pour out the spirit of peace on all the rulers of our world that we may be brought through strife to the lasting peace of the kingdom of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen." (Collect for September 11 from the Diocese of New York)

Turning left

I was on the campus on Springhill College tonight for a program of the Christian Jewish Dialogue. Springhill is a beautiful campus at the highest point in Mobile. I was looking for Byrne Hall and entered the campus as I normally do, from the Dauphin Street side, and began to cut through the golf course. As I began to pass by familiar buildings in a direction that used to take one across campus, I discovered a parking lot and sidewalks. Hmm. I backtracked and began a journey to the other side of campus and the Avenue of Oaks where I knew that Byrne Hall was. Past the baseball field, through the dorms, past Stewardfield, and down the Avenue, where I could see the hall across the soccer field. But I couldn't get to it. So I backed up. This went on for about 20 minutes. Finally, when I found myself at my starting point, I asked a student where to get to my destination. He directed me back around the ball field and dorms and said "when you get to a point where you either have to go left or right, turn left...and then keep going." Just before I drove away, he repeated that sentence. "When you get to a point where you have to go left or right, turn left." As I drove away, I chuckled and thought to myself how many times in my life should I have just turned left?

I love being on college campuses. That strikes me as funny since college was not the greatest experience for me in the beginning.  I went away too soon to the wrong school with no clear direction. Small town. No car. Knew no one. Painfully afraid and unsure. It was a miserable year.

The rest of my undergraduate career was a series of mistakes and misturns. Two transfers, 3 major changes, and a lot of heartache. When graduation finally came I swore that was it. I was finished with school. Well, that was two Masters degrees ago. And if it didn't cost so damn much, I'd probably pick another subject and do it again.

Some of this is a love of learning. But as I was driving thru the campus tonight, I saw students playing soccer, walking to the dining hall, digging thru backpacks. I looked thru the lights of the windows covered in fraternity letters and purple Badger banners. What I realized was that I envied them. For them it's all new. All out in front of them for the first time. And I really, really wish I had the ability to go back to start college again for the first time, and get it right.

I wonder. Where would I be if I had taken my parent's advice and stayed home for a year and got my feet wet? Where would I be if I had listened to my English 101 professor's suggestion and majored in Journalism? Where would I be if I had gone to a school and experienced college and all it's supposed to be instead of taking a full load and working all the time? Would I be married or have a family? Would I have a more fulfilling career? Where would I be if I'd just closed my eyes, and turned left? 

The answer, of course, is that I don't know. And the rest of the story is that there are people and places and experiences that I would not have had if any of my life had been different.  And I know I can't live a life of regret, although I'll admit that's a tough pill to swallow when I look at my student loans and degrees that seem to be getting me no where. Of course I wish that I could quit my job and decide tomorrow that I'm just going to write, or bake, or go back to school for something really cool like historical preservation or anthropoghy or religion and start this trek all over, but unfortunately bills and responsiblity will not allow, and the department of education and South Alabama won't let me trade in the degrees I have. So I guess I just keep moving forward and try to get to that place that fulfills me, whereever that turns out to be. But oh, to have a chance for a do-over - to have it all in front of me again. To have the chance to get to that point where you have to turn right or left...

I found Byrne Hall. Once I turned left and followed the road to the end, instead of stopping when I got uncomfortable, I found I was right where I needed to be.