Complacency Cannot Be Tolerated

I was sitting and thinking about what to write for today.  Trying to conjure up some all powerful images and move the world with my words.  

And I failed miserably.  

I have nothing spectacular to say. But, at the same time, I don't think being a firefighter's wife...with a blog, I can let today go by without having something to say.

So, while I was running around, folding laundry, talking to the polar bears, I realized my biggest concern is not al Qaeda.  It is not my plane crashing or underwear bombers.  My biggest fear is that we have forgotten. 

In the days post 9/11, we were a united nation.  

Truly, One Nation, Under God, Indivisible.  

Our flags were flying high, our trees were wrapped with yellow ribbons and we all stood outside with candles at 8pm.  

And where has that gone?

We have people fighting over nonsense and the political divide that was bridged, for a bit, is back to being a fracture the size of the Grand Canyon.  We remember - in September.  We have a day on the calendar.  But, have we forgotten that this tragic event that shook the world to her core, brought us all closer together?  
Have we forgotten how total strangers became closer than blood as the world literally came crashing down around them?

Have we forgotten that there were firefighters who survived the collapse of the first tower, only to enter the second, in a valiant effort to help whomever they could?

Have we forgotten that so many of them never came out?

We were a unified nation.  There was no color or creed.  We were Americans.

Our flags were flying.  Our families closer than ever.  Men and women rushed to serve their country and communities though the armed forces and our local community agencies.  

Now, we are fighting over budgets and whether or not that rig is necessary or if our firefighters should really get paid to eat lunch together.

Fingers are pointing and blame is being passed.

We should be reaching out and bridging those divides.  Not blaming Muslims for the bombings.  That is the same logic as the Jews killed Christ.  I have no patience for it.

We should be supporting our communities, feeding our hungry, developing bonds with our families.  

We are AMERICANS. This is September 11th.

We remember what those 343 sacrificed.  

We mourn and memorialized the 3,000+ other souls who never came home.

We thank our military for their service.

We are AMERICANS.  

We fight for those who have no voice.

We strive for all voices to be heard, even if they go against the grain.

We work to make sure that my children are treated with the same dignity and respect that every child deserves.

We are AMERICANS.

We cannot forget what we felt that day.  It is not enough to tell the story of where you were.  We all have those images.  But, now, how did it change you?  How did you work to make this a better place to raise our kids?  What still needs to be done?  How can you help?

FDR, in his declaration of war, said that Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, was a "date that will live in infamy."  It was my grandparents' 9/11.  I remember it...but have we become complacent in its memory...in its meaning?  How many young adults know anything beyond what they needed to for the two questions on their US History WW II exam and the one question on their final?  How many average Joe Americans know the story or the repercussions of that one event?  I feel like I could play the role of Jay Leno and ask random people, but it would break my heart instead of making me laugh.

September 11th changed our lives.  We must embrace that change.  We must remember that the intolerance of other religions cannot permeate into our society.  We must encourage our kids to learn about their history and that of the world they may never see.  We have to reach out to our neighbors and say hello, can I help you carry those bags in?  Don't be complacent - make a splash, because you can. 

We have to be the difference we want to see in the world. 

Be the difference.

Honor Flight - Vietnam Edition

I never seem to be able to sleep in.  My FF gave the muppets this big long spiel about going down to the toy room to watch TV when they wake up, don't come talk to momma, she needs to sleep, yada yada yada...and I wake up at 5am.  No rhyme or reason.  And of course I am wide awake.  When we were first married, I would have woken the guy up next to me.  OF COURSE he wants to chat with me.  As the years have flown by I have learned that is just NOT the case and let him sleep.  Which usually leads me to waking up the muppets for entertainment or technology.  And here I am with my laptop - in my lap.

Reading the paper this morning, I read about the latest Honor Flight.  To honor the 40th Anniversary of the end of physical conflict in Vietnam, an Honor Flight out of Oshkosh took 114 randomly selected veterans on the first ever Yellow Ribbon Honor Flight for Wisconsin Veterans.  This is a cause that is very near and dear to my heart, for no real reason.  Just because.

Just because our vets lost years of their lives, if not their lives.  In some cases these sacrifices were for a cause no one really understood.  

Just because our vets came home and were expected to pick up where they left off.  No talk of what they saw, who they lost or how things changed at home.

Just because some of our vets were so maltreated upon their arrival back "home" it makes my stomach turn.

Just because their spouses held down the forts for YEARS without their service man/woman.  Babies were born, milestones met, struggles tackled - without them there.

Just because they saw things that would cause the rest of us to never sleep again...and we wonder why they come home and not the same.

Just because I am researching the impact of PTSD on our military and emergency personnel and I see the damage that it causes EVERYDAY.

Just because.

The way the Vietnam vets were treated was a huge reason why I became a history teacher.  Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.  Cliche, clearly, but true none-the-less.

My dad was not in Vietnam.  They started at his feet and never got past them to decide on his vision - ingrown toenails.  His feet kept him out of the war and is probably why I am here today.  I have very little first hand experience with the Vietnam "Police Action" homecomings, or lack thereof.  Just what I have heard and read.  But it was enough of an impact to cause me to sell t-shirts in support of our troops in high school when the first gulf war broke out.  It was enough of an impact to lead me into education as my vocation.  It was enough of an impact for me to lead my middle schoolers to an Operation Comfort drive ten years ago. It was enough for me to take the muppets to Mitchell International Airport to welcome home the last couple rounds of WWII vets coming home from their Honor Flight to DC.   It was enough for me to take time to take the muppets to see the traveling Vietnam Wall.  It was enough for me to have my seniors send letters to the service people struggle to readjust this spring.  It impacted me.  

And it continues to impact me on a much different level now that I find myself married to a firefighter.

There are families with the same concerns I have.  That knock on the door.  That uniform on the porch. But they last for YEARS at a time.

My FF met with CFD yesterday and was dropped off at home by the officer he drove down with.  I was on the phone with my dad when that big red SUV pulled up - EVEN THOUGH I KNEW IT WAS HIM, my stomach dropped.  Sad really, that my Pavlovian reaction was momentary panic, but it was.  Military families have the same fears, but not every third day.  It is every day, for years at a time.

I fuss about not seeing him enough over the course of these last 4 weeks, but the truth of the matter is he came home to me every night.  I complain about how the kids only get sick when he is gone.  But he comes back, every time, within a couple of days and can offer me some respite.  We get grumpy about having to live in the city limits, think about the military families that move just as the kids are making friends, again.  Just as I live a life Jane Q. Public can't imagine, military families live a life that this Mrs. Firefighter can only begin to try and picture.  And these Honor Flights, these thank yous that are DECADES too late, are the least that we can do for the sacrifices our vets and their families have made.

I wish my blog could have the reach that Gary Sinise and the Lt. Dan Band have.  They are to today's vets, what the USO was for our grandparents' generation.  That taste of home.  I wish that my classroom service could reach as many people in need of someone just acknowledging all that was given up for king and  country as the amazing work that they are doing.  And clearly none of my efforts will have the same quantitative impact.  But, for the handful of service people who got a note acknowledging the human side that they are struggling to stay in contact with or the smiles of my little people's flag waving faces, it did make a difference.  It says you are not forgotten.  It says we appreciate you.  It says you are not alone.

Please take the time to reach out to any of the vets you come in contact with on a daily basis.  If you have not seen Honor Flight the Movie, I highly recommend that you make a point of it.  Support the Honor Flights in your area, especially those for our World Wars vets, they will not be with us for much longer.  Take the time to reach out and let our heroes know they are not forgotten, they are indeed loved.

Is There Anything Else to Say?

It has been 11 years since life as we knew was turned upside down and inside out.  

11 years.

Sometimes it is hard to believe.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to think of what to write.  The posts for this day seem to get to me in a manner I never expected.  

I can't say I understand.  I don't understand why.  I don't understand what the families were put through and what those quiet moments mu st be like today.  As fearful as we all were, I still can't understand.  I can't understand the sheer horror experienced by the spouses of those bravely trying to save those they could and to comfort those they could not.  The momentary glimpse I got with the Temple shooting is nothing in comparison.  I can feel the apprehension in my chest every shift day as I kiss my husband good-bye, for that one more once.  I "know" he'll come back to me, but there is always that chance that he might not.  And that whispers in my ear periodically.  But he does come home to me.  

All of my children will know their father.  How many 9/11 babies only know the stories?  How many will never know the whole story?  What do I say to my kids?

Do I say I am sorry to those whose lives will never be the same because of that one moment in time?  Sorry that you will not have your Daddy to walk you down the aisle.  Sorry that "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" will never be again.  Sorry that your child was taken from you far too early.  

I can say "Thank You", but to whom?  To the families that have fought through the heartache and pain?  To the 343 who were simply amazing.  FFs are often the ones running in while everyone else is running out.  But this time, many of them knew this would be their last call.  And they went in valiantly to help, to comfort to be firefighters.  To the NYPD who tried to keep some idea of sanity at probably the most insane moment of our brief history, even though they too knew the costs?  To the nameless victims calling home to comfort the people they, at that moment, knew would be grieving the lives lost far too soon??  To our military forces and their families who have fought bravely to ensure we are safe in our own backyards?  To Paul Gill of Engine 54 whose name graced my husband's gear at last year's memorial?  To his family who have been so gracious in their correspondence with me?  Who do you thank?  Does it mean anything??  Does it help??

FF Paul Gill, Engine 54

There are no words.  We all know where we were.  We all know how we felt when the pit in our stomach dropped.  We know and have shared our stories over and over and over.  Our stories have been heard, but what about the stories of those we have lost?  Some of theirs have made their way to documentaries and memoirs, but some are forever silenced.

The only words I have are

www.facebook.com/MYPAWS1


WE REMEMBER...

YOU HAVE NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN...

WE REMEMBER...

I Remember...

After Talking About it All Day...

I find myself speechless.  I spent my whole day talking to teenagers about 9/11.  They remember it - as much as a first or second grader can.  They gave me an interesting insight - they have no memories of life before the fear.  No memories before the teeny bottle limits.  No memories of being able to greet loved ones the moment they get off the plane.  They have no idea of what life was like before the towers fell.

They remember where they were, what they were doing.  Not quite in the same detail that I do.  I was standing in the back of my classroom, when I had prep first thing in the AM - on top of two bookcases in the back corner.  I was putting my middle schoolers' "cave paintings" from our Early Man unit up on the bulletin board.  I was wearing bibs, a blue and white striped shirt with my red, white and blue Chuck Taylors.  My hair had not been straightened yet, I only had 1 kid.  It was down and pulled back in a headband.  Two kids popped in with the news (I remember their names and what they were wearing.).  "Mrs. H!   Mrs. H!  A plane just ran into the World Trade Center!"  I didn't believe them.  They had just come from the office where the 27" (BIG TV by school standards) had the news on.  I remember saying, "Wow!  I wonder what went wrong with their navigation systems."   As we entered the office, the 2nd plane hit.  I sunk into one of the seats with my jaw wide open.  It took my breath away.  But I still felt there must have been some interference with the radars.  Terrorists never entered my mind.  I was not naive, but in hind-sight, it is the one point in my adult life I truly considered myself sheltered.

I will remember where I was when I heard about the death of this despot.  I will remember my reaction when I saw the Tweet regarding the President wanting to talk to me at 2130.  I will remember that bin-Laden never crossed my mind - I thought it would have been an update regarding the other in Libya.  Once again I was left with my jaw hanging open.

(/11 - It was a long day of talking.  Kids trickled out as terrified parents picked up their kids, not wanting their kids in a downtown school when we had no idea WHAT was going on.  I talked - to calm, to discuss, to inform, to break the tension - I talked ALL DAY!  Then I got home.  I tried to keep my 18 month-old away from the TV at all costs.  All of these memories came flooding back.  Spending my birthday, in silence at the end of the driveway for a nationwide candle light vigil at 7pm.  I also remember that I was married to a teacher.  We talked to kids, that was how we handled things.

Now, I am married to a firefighter. Talking would not be enough this time around.  He would be gone.  He would be with whatever crew was heading out to the site of the tragedy.  I KNOW him.  He is not okay just talking, he needs to DO something.  I think of the 343 and my heart sinks.  Had it been 9/11/11 instead - he would have been out there.  Had we lived anywhere near Ground Zero - he would have been there.  His sole thought would have been getting the victims home to their families.  I am so grateful to be married to such a man.  It is also frightening.  IF this happens here, he will be there.  Losing him...I can't even begin to think of it.  Just typing this with my FF sleeping next to me, is causing my throat to tighten and my eyes to burn.

I am done talking.  I don't want to talk about the hows, whys, whats anymore.  I don't want to discuss the culture and theology of both sides anymore.  I am done talking.  But, my head doesn't shut down so easy. I think of the parents who lost their children.  I weep for the babies who will never meet their daddies.  For the marriage torn apart - through death or pain and stress, I grieve.  For the 343, I say a prayer.  A prayer of thanksgiving, a prayer for their families, a prayer for their souls, a prayer of healing for those left behind  and selfishly, a prayer that it is never my husband.  But in my heart of hearts, I know it could be.  We all do - military spouses, fire spouses and law enforcement spouses - we all know it could be us that others are saying the prayers for.  We at some level accept it, while at the same time totally and completely ignore it.

So, while my 16 year-olds were celebrating during our discussions, I was praying.  The loss of life yesterday, was still a tragedy.  I can't celebrate.  I understand, but I am not jubilant.  A chapter has ended and another begun.  I can't talk about it anymore...it was a long day.

So, instead, I will say a prayer.  A prayer for those we lost and those who left behind to mourn.  We will never forget.