I didn’t intend on writing a post today, but inevitably the tragedy of September 11 always reminds me of my late father.
It was early in the morning on Guam when my father rapped on my door. He told me to turn on the tiny television set in my room and put on CNN. I was groggy, grumpy, not looking forward to another early morning and prepping for work at JFK High School. I watched through blurry eyes, not fully awake and thought, this can’t be real. Maybe I’m dreaming. My dad watched my reaction, the glow from the TV the only source of light in my gray room. I remember looking at him, his face serious and then looking back at the screen. The visuals seemed to be out of a movie. My dad left me alone to process this.
For the next few days, the news was always on in the house. I didn’t react much, still internalizing my feelings. Then, at the dinner table, I watched new footage. Clips of people, who faced with the blazing inferno opted to jump from the building to their deaths. The flapping tie of one man, as he dove from such heights is forever burned in my memory. It was then, my fear and sadness finally surfaced. I cried at the table. My parents quiet next to me.
September 11, the Colorado bombing, tragic events in our nation’s history. I continue to pray and wonder for the victim’s families. Those left behind. I hope one day to visit New York, to see the memorial for myself.