I don't know about y'all, but this week has been tough, physically and emotionally. The change in the weather along with the smoke blowing into our area from the grass fires in South Texas have gotten the better of me. I've been sneezing, coughing and wheezing since Wednesday. I love Texas, but not the allergens.
It's so sad to watch the reports of the fire's destruction on the news. And I know it could hit my community too.
This has also been the week leading up to the tenth anniversary of the attacks of 9/11. I don't think there is an American who remembers those days who hasn't teared up just thinking about them. Friday, I talked about those events with my fifth grade class. Most of them were one year old at the time. Just telling them about my experience, where I was on that morning, was difficult. I had to stop a couple of times when I was close to choking up. I wonder if I'll ever be able to think about it and not cry.
One thing I remember was that Rush Creek held a prayer service that night, the night of the attacks. I didn't want to go. To this day, I can't tell you why. Something happened to me that day that I can't explain.
I've watched some of the coverage on TV. I've avoided most of it. I want to remember, but not relive.
I was in New York City six weeks after 9/11. I went to ground zero. I smelt the fumes from fires still smoldering. I witnessed a memorial service for a first-responder processing from St. Patrick's Cathedral. I spoke with people who were there. I experienced a bomb threat aboard our flight home and felt the indignation of how someone could put so many more lives in jeopardy.
I look forward to tomorrow, September 12th. Hopefully I'll feel better. I can put this behind me and, along with the rest of us, I'll continue to live my life. We all know we will never be the same again, but maybe that's a good thing. We understand the preciousness of life here and now. We know a little bit better who we are as Americans. I pray we never take it for granted.
And that's why we remember.
