This is my first post of the week and it’s not due to poor time management. I simply wanted to post after the 9/11 anniversary. So many remember exactly what they were doing and as much as I try to, I can only remember days afterwards watching the news. As a 6 year old, all I knew was that many people had died. I could not comprehend the emotions of others and the effect that grim day would have on me.
My oldest brother had joined the Marines months before September and I was already missing him dearly. I was probably the last in my house to understand what this meant and how ugly it was going to get.
I began acting up in school and my grades saw the worst of it. I could see the effect it had on my parents, as much as they tried to make it obscure. My birthday cakes always ended with tears. Not only my tears, but those of family who had been there to celebrate with me. The extremely rare phone calls were the cherished highlights of the month along with the letters I got from my brother. I read those letters over and over, and over again.
When ever I had recess, I vividly remember asking myself “How the HELL can you be running around playing tag when your beloved brother is risking his life day and night?” Guilt plagued me, and I tried to do anything I could to help my brother. Care packages and prayer were the most I could think of.
By the grace of God he was able to come back alive, but not all mothers and families were fortunate enough to hold their sons, brothers, and sisters one last time.
I promise to not post any more blogs like this one. I just want to remember and thank the fallen Soldiers, the Firefighters, the Police Officers, and the First Responders. Respect and thank all in the service past or present.
I want to thank my big brother,