July. 2009. A great photo of a great boy. I love his toothless grin. His look of innocence and wide-eyed excitement as he smiles for the camera. I love that he knew (and knows) what to do when he sees a flag. In his eyes I can see a hope for a future filled with all that he dreams of. And much, much more.
Last Friday, this same, wide-eyed, taller and wiser boy asked me over breakfast, "Why is this 9-11 going to be different than any other 9-11?" It was an odd question, and yet it struck me with great impact. I explained to him that this was the 10th anniversary of when the two towers had been struck by planes, and how our nation stood still as we watched the Pentagon also hit by a plane, and how the brave members of Flight 93 had sacrificed their very lives to protect what could have easily become another tragedy that day. I told him it was a day to remember, and pay respect, and reflect on how our country has become different. "But mom, how is our country different?" Ah. My son. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Full of innocence, and yet, in his lifetime of innocence, he has known only talk of 9-11. His sisters lived half their lives never knowing what it was like to fear the news, to wonder if the plane flying over head was heading to a great destination or another tragedy in the sky. He, on the other hand, has only heard the phrase, "Since 9-11...."
During this morning's tribute on the news I heard an inspiring story. While digging out the ruble around the fallen World Trade Centers, a tree was salvaged. Not knowing if it would live or die, they replanted it and watched with anticipation and wonder to see what would happen. It lived through a long, hard New York winter. When spring arrived, small green buds began to appear above the twisted and knotty limbs. For ten years now the tree has been growing and maturing. Ironically, it was pointed out that while one side is lovely, the backside is still gnarly and twisted and burnt, a physical reminder of where it came from and what it survived.
I see the world around me and I see that tree. Parts of it beautiful, other parts hard to look at. But the strength that lies in beauty also comes from struggles and trials and doing hard things despite tragedy. I want that kind of strength for myself, for my family, for my son. So on this 10th anniversay, this day of remembrance, I offer an inadequate, but somewhat eloquent answer to my son's burning question. What makes this day different from any other?
He makes it different. Ten years ago
he had yet to arrive. And ten years later
he makes a difference every day in the life of our family.
His smile,
his jokes,
his endless questions.
His sensitivy to others.
His teasing and taunting of
his sisters.
His quiet moments when
he is lost in a book. Even
his loud moments when I want to say to him, "Give me some peace for just a few minutes." Peace.
His hope in the future brings me peace.
He is amazing.
He is my 9-11 miracle.
Last Friday, this same, wide-eyed, taller and wiser boy asked me over breakfast, "Why is this 9-11 going to be different than any other 9-11?" It was an odd question, and yet it struck me with great impact. I explained to him that this was the 10th anniversary of when the two towers had been struck by planes, and how our nation stood still as we watched the Pentagon also hit by a plane, and how the brave members of Flight 93 had sacrificed their very lives to protect what could have easily become another tragedy that day. I told him it was a day to remember, and pay respect, and reflect on how our country has become different. "But mom, how is our country different?" Ah. My son. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Full of innocence, and yet, in his lifetime of innocence, he has known only talk of 9-11. His sisters lived half their lives never knowing what it was like to fear the news, to wonder if the plane flying over head was heading to a great destination or another tragedy in the sky. He, on the other hand, has only heard the phrase, "Since 9-11...."
During this morning's tribute on the news I heard an inspiring story. While digging out the ruble around the fallen World Trade Centers, a tree was salvaged. Not knowing if it would live or die, they replanted it and watched with anticipation and wonder to see what would happen. It lived through a long, hard New York winter. When spring arrived, small green buds began to appear above the twisted and knotty limbs. For ten years now the tree has been growing and maturing. Ironically, it was pointed out that while one side is lovely, the backside is still gnarly and twisted and burnt, a physical reminder of where it came from and what it survived.
I see the world around me and I see that tree. Parts of it beautiful, other parts hard to look at. But the strength that lies in beauty also comes from struggles and trials and doing hard things despite tragedy. I want that kind of strength for myself, for my family, for my son. So on this 10th anniversay, this day of remembrance, I offer an inadequate, but somewhat eloquent answer to my son's burning question. What makes this day different from any other? He makes it different. Ten years ago he had yet to arrive. And ten years later he makes a difference every day in the life of our family. His smile, his jokes, his endless questions. His sensitivy to others. His teasing and taunting of his sisters. His quiet moments when he is lost in a book. Even his loud moments when I want to say to him, "Give me some peace for just a few minutes." Peace. His hope in the future brings me peace. He is amazing. He is my 9-11 miracle.
I have never heard about that tree-- so remarkable. Also, your kids are my favorite. Forever and ever.
ReplyDelete