Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The Unanswered Question

I know that three year olds learn by asking questions. Cameron is very interested in the world around him, and so I get about 473 questions a day, ranging from the deep and inquisitive to the silly and ridiculous. Like today for example:

(driving home from school)

Cameron: “Mommy, will daddy be home when we get there?”
Mommy: “No sweetie, daddy is teaching tonight.”
Cameron: “What’s he teaching”
Mommy: “Daddy’s teaching young plumbers how to be better plumbers.”
Cameron: “Is daddy still a daddy?”
Mommy: “Yes, Cameron, daddy can be both a daddy AND a teacher.”
Cameron: “Where’s he teaching?”
Mommy: “In Redmond at Redmond High School.”
Cameron: “Where’s Redmond?”


Mommy:…………………”okaaaaaaaaaaaay. Time for some music.”

But how do you answer this question: “Mommy? Why did that plane fly into that building?”

We don’t shelter Cameron from the world. Although sometimes we would like to wrap him in giant wad of bubble-wrap and send him on his merry way, we expose him to his surroundings--within reason, of course. Through trial and error, this is what we’ve come to believe to be our way of responsible parenting. So when Cameron joined me in watching news coverage yesterday morning of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, our Q and A session began. But, explaining these sorts of things to a three year old is difficult. “A terrible accident happened” is just a plain lie. “Lots of people died” is a ridiculous understatement. “Fire trucks were broken” doesn’t even come close.

Five years after 9/11, I still haven’t sorted it all out in my head. I remember being glued to the TV in the early west-coast hours after the attacks. Then I watched the first tower come down. Suddenly a bell went off in my head: I’d better get to work. I’m sure the Red Cross will be involved in this somehow. It was… for better or for worse—and it turned out to be the organization’s largest relief effort to date.

When I arrived at the office, all hell had broken loose. At first, I couldn’t get into the building because at that time our office was located inside the National Guard Armory. The nation’s defense level had already risen to some other color that didn’t allow me access other than through the main doors, where I was searched and finally allowed to go to work. Once inside, it was mayhem—everyone on the phone, taking notes and fielding calls from Central Oregonians trying to track down loved ones in the heart of the disaster. The Emergency Services director was being recruited to fly the next day (on a private plane reserved for VIPs) so that she could supervise the nursing station at the Pentagon. Betsy was late because her roommate’s dad was supposed to be in one of the towers that morning for a meeting and they couldn’t get in contact with him. He was okay, but it was a harrowing few hours for Betsy and her tight-knit group of friends.

I remember being numb for most of the day. My attitude was something along the lines of chin up, toughing it out and fielding the phone calls, dealing with the stress. There just so happened to be a blood drive already in progress that morning at the Bend River Mall. The President had gone on the news and told everyone to go down and give blood. We got reports of lines snaking out through the mall and into the parking lot. Six hour waits and refreshments for those waiting but wanting to do something- anything- being provided by local restaurants and served by other people who couldn’t donate blood.

At quitting time, around 5 pm, a couple of women came into our office with their kids. It was the end of a long and terribly emotional day for me and all of the staff. Everyone else had already gone home in preparation for a busy rest of the week. When I saw our visitors I gasped. Every one of these kids- to a number- was carrying their piggy banks. They had waited in line all day with their moms to donate blood and when they found out they were (of course) too young to donate and there was nothing that they could do, they drove home, retrieved their piggy banks, and brought them to me. For the 9/11 fund. We ceremoniously opened and emptied every last penny into bank bags. I collected their names and addresses so that we could send them a letter acknowledging their donations. I thanked them and began to come to terms with the scope of the disaster and the nature and cost of the response effort… and how I would be involved in that as well.

After they left, I allowed myself to grieve for the first time that day at what we had lost—what we had all lost—when those buildings came down. And when the Pentagon was hit. And when United 93 went down in Pennsylvania. My life and my view of the world was changed forever. What I remember most in those first few days and weeks after the attacks was how the nation came together as Americans and we bonded in a way that probably hadn’t been seen since Pearl Harbor or since Kennedy was assassinated.

We all saw the televised concerts and the President’s addresses and the flags and all the other public, outward displays of unity that had suddenly cropped up, only to lessen and fade away in the months after the terrorist attacks. For me, the most poignant example of this Americanism and this patriotism surrounded Betsy and her mother. Elise had been staying with Betsy’s older sister in Denver during the week before September 11. She was scheduled to leave on September 12 and fly back to Massachusetts but, of course, her flight was cancelled and there was no way to tell when she would be re-booked, if at all. So, with few other options and already being on this side of the Mississippi, Elise decided to come and see Betsy. Since car and van rentals in and around the Denver area were getting to be more and more scarce by the hour, Elise hopped in a van with six or seven other strangers, all bound for different destinations in the Pacific Northwest. I remember Betsy telling me, in a slightly horrified tone, "Angela, MY SISTER HAS JUST PUT MY MOM IN A VAN WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS."

But, see, they weren’t really strangers. They were all Americans, stuck in a tough situation, and working together to get out of it. That’s what I remember from September 11. I'm also no longer afraid to look at things like this: http://brain-terminal.com/posts/2006/09/05/crystal-morning Because we should never forget.

And maybe one day we all will be able to comprehend... why did those planes fly into those buildings?

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