I remember September 11, 2001. I had gone to school early that morning to teach my 3rd grade class in Norcross, GA. My husband had gone to work at 3rd Army in Ft. McPherson, GA. My parents were in town visiting and were going to the airport that morning to pick up my sister and her husband who were flying in from Washington D.C.
I remember a fellow teacher coming into my room and telling me that two planes had hit the World Trade Centers in New York City. I remember the shock and horror I felt, knowing this was no accident and wondering who could be that evil. I couldn’t begin to imagine the number of lives that were lost.
I remember hearing about the plane that had crashed into the Pentagon and knowing that my sister and her husband were flying out from D.C. that very morning. I remember the guilty relief I felt when I saw that their flight had landed in Atlanta but knowing that many other families were learning that their loved ones had not been so fortunate. I remember my sister later telling me that they had seen the Pentagon as they flew out of the city, just 30 minutes before it was attacked.
I remember trying very hard not to let my students know that something so horrible had occurred that day. During my lunch break I called my husband, and that was when I first cried because his job primarily dealt with the Middle East. I remember being afraid that he would have to go to war.
I remember the days, weeks and months that followed. My students came with so many questions. “Why had this happened?” “Who did this?” “Why didn’t they like us?” Too many of them had seen the images on T.V., burning buildings, people jumping, and they needed assurance that they were safe. I remember hearing so many stories on the news of acts of heroism and an increased sense of patriotism.
I remember holding my newborn daughter in my arms and watching as we went to war. I remember the mixed emotions that I had and how I selfishly prayed that my husband wouldn’t have to go.
I remember my husband telling me that with his new job assignment would be a deployment. I remember watching him hold our 5 month old son and praying that he would come home alive. I remember the sense of pride mixed with fear and an unexplainable God-given peace as I watched him walk away, knowing it would be a long time before I saw him again.
I remember the year without my husband. Relying on God’s strength for each day, and anticipating my husband’s phone calls, letters, and e-mails, and praying for his and the other soldiers’ safety. I remember feeling God’s hand through the hugs and support of friends and family, offers of help, the simple “Thank you’s.”
I remember him finally coming home, our children running towards him and holding on tightly to their daddy. I remember his strong arms holding me; it was as if no time had passed by at all.
I remember those who lost their lives on September 11th. I remember those in the military who endure time away from their family and friends and who have given their lives to defend our freedom. I remember those who anticipate the phone calls and letters from their loved ones who are far away, and I remember those who will never see their loved one again. I remember and pray for them all.
I remember. I will not forget.
I went to Wal-Mart and bought seeds and two flats that would act as "mini greenhouses" for the seedlings. I planted Forget-me-Nots, Marigolds, Shasta Daisies, Dahlias, Sunflowers, Zinnias and Cone Flowers.
My girls even got in on the action, although they got bored after planting a few seeds, plus it was hard to work with such small seeds.
A little less than two months later most of the seeds that I had planted had sprouted. It was fun for the kids to see the plants grow. Some of the seeds didn't do so well, namely the Cone Flowers and Marigolds, but it was rather painless. When the seedlings were ready and the weather had warmed up enough I transplanted them into our yard.
