8:00 am on September 11, 2001. I was sitting in my recliner nursing a three month old YS and watching Good Morning America, as I had every day since his birth. The news report came in about a fire in the World Trade Center, cameras showed a huge plume of smoke emanating from the building. They went live to the scene, watching fire trucks arrive, firemen run in, people streaming out. I watched live as the second plane struck the second tower. My life was forever changed in that instant.
I remained glued to the television for the next 20 hours or so, not believing what I was seeing. We were under attack by a foreign aggressor of unknown origin. Instinctively, I wanted to be armed. I wanted to suit up and drive myself to Ground Zero. I wanted more than anything to reenlist. For a soldier, there is no greater calling than my Nation on her knees. I ran through the options in my head for days. What to do about the baby? The older boys could manage fine without me when the time came to deploy and seek our justice for this. But this tiny, innocent new life was a problem.
My spouse did not (probably still doesn't) understand my emotional attachment to this day, these events and the months that followed. He never served in the military. He was in law enforcement, small and local, and saw his duty to protect and serve people he actually knew. I respect that too. But it's not the same, and I can't express the gut level disappointment I felt for not being able to rise to the occasion when my country needed me most. I trust that God has a plan for me. This crossroad came with a clearly marked sign to follow, yet I still struggled to accept my place was at home, as a mother, without a gun or a uniform.
I took an oath when I was 17 and honorably served my commitment on Active Duty in the United States Army. I followed in my grandfather's footsteps, becoming the fourth generation to serve. Honor, duty, country - those were more than words in our family. My grandfather retired after twenty-five years in the Army, fought in WWII and Korea, and served in missile silos during the Bay of Pigs. He went to work for a defense contractor after that, continuing his life of trusted secrecy and military pride for another twenty years. I loved him dearly and learned my patriotism on his knee. My father served in the Navy during the Vietnam War. I officially now qualify for some "Cold War Era" service ribbon which they are supposedly mailing to me. I guess that means I can finally join the local VFW.
Leaving the politics of war aside, I will say that I never understood the Iraq mission. I spoke openly against it when it began, casting my clear doubts as to the ability to complete our mission in Afghanistan and against those men that attacked us by starting a new conflict. History will judge the men who made such decisions, and as a soldier, I respect that the mission is not ours to choose. Questioning the politics as a voter in no way erodes my deepest respect and unconditional support for the men and women carrying the orders out, at home and abroad. I briefly saw that it may have been a good thing I didn't reenlist, as I would no doubt have felt the same way in uniform and spoken openly about it.
It took nearly ten years for our justice to see daylight. The mission to find and apprehend the mastermind responsible for our generation's greatest tragedy has finally seen success. I applaud all those who contributed to this goal, including the Commander in Chief, both past and present. When faced with the daunting task of deciding the life or death of unknown hostile subjects in foreign countries, they did not waver in doing what was right for our nation at the time. I salute them.
For me, it seems like a chapter of my life has finally closed. The thorn piercing my soul has been removed so that it can begin to heal. I still wonder if I would have done it all differently without my youngest "surprise" child. In my heart, I know that I would have gone wherever they sent me and done my best to protect the country I love so much. Whether I would still be serving, I can't say. I guess I will never really know.
I am blessed with three healthy sons. I fully expect one of them to carry on the family tradition of service for their generation. I would prefer that all three did, to see what I have seen, to feel the pride and comradery, and to truly know that the world is bigger than themselves. The oldest is now a parent, so it's less likely that he'll make that sacrifice now. The middle certainly needs the discipline and structure, though I wonder whether he could follow orders long enough to see the purpose and grasp the ideals at this point in his life. The youngest, my child of the millennium, feels the duty to serve the most. It helps that he has veteran grandparents on the other side too. He's little, so when he speaks bluntly of doing ROTC in college and then joining as an officer to "make the real bucks," I have to chuckle. He's like an old soul sometimes.
I pray that we have seen that darkest days on our soil and that we can come together as a nation, of all parties, races and religions, to heal united from our tragedy. I hope that our children are never faced with another day like September 11th. I wish that they could know how it felt in that moment, if only to prepare them for the battles ahead. I vow to never forget those that gave their lives, both the innocent victims and the courageous heroes who went in to save others that fateful day. I look forward to the completion of the World Trade Center Memorial and a family trip there to experience it with my grandchildren. I seek a future in which these memorials grow few, the atrocities grow rare, the fear subsides, and hope and faith can thrive again. May God bless America.
