9/11/01 18 years later

And here we are, 18 years since 9/11/2001.  I honestly never imagined that we would be here.  Not in some apocalyptic way like the church used to teach me, but just in the very nature in pondering the actual reality of that day in 2001.

When I awoke this morning, my Twitter feed was filled with "where were you when" posts.  I did not answer, I could say from the busyness of life, but really it was just that I wanted to internally reflect on the day.

So much has occurred since that fateful day, 9/11/01, that it has almost become just another day, wherein in the city adorns the streets with flags, social media is filled with "we shall never forget" hash tags and memes.

But truly have we not forgot?

18 years is a very long time, after all.

As I drove around today, I noticed an occurrence today that was not present on that day in 2001.  People going about their lives as business as usual, doing their jobs and daily routines almost as if it was any other day.

Growing up as a kid and teenager in the 1980s and 1990s, I was told often by my parents and other adults about their day of infamy, December 7th, 1941, when Pearl Harbour was bombed by the Japanese or even the assassination of JFK on November 22, 1963.  Before 9/11/01, these were merely dates in history that had little to no significance to me on a personal level.

Then, 9/11/01 happened.  I was heading into my senior year of college and was finishing up my last summer visiting the parents' as an undergrad.  I awoke to my father bellowing to come downstairs and so I did.  There I was, standing in my pajamas, hair a mess from the night's sleep, the night's sweat still on my face, watching as a major airline crashed into the world trade center....

It was surreal.

I had only just begun my journey into fundamental Christianity and already the study of eschatology, or the end times, had gotten a hold of me.  I stood there, trembling, had the rapture happened, was my first thought?  After calling my then, sorta boyfriend, who professed outwardly to be a Christian but was basically a big creep, the rapture had not occurred.  (And would never, but that's a story for another time.)

The next thing I did was make a phone call that is now infamous to my soul.

The previous day I had visited my old high school. I had spent time with my favorite high school teacher and mentor, Fernando Nugent.  We had laughed and talked.  He had hugged me close and wiped the excessive eye shadow from my eyes.  He was a true fatherly spirit to me.

So, on 9/11, I called him.  He was at school, of course.  The secretary transferred me without thought.

"How are you?" I remember asking him.  I heard the TV on in the background.

"Not so good," came his reply.  Without thinking, I said,

"I love you."

"I love you too," came his immediate response.

A few weeks later, I flew up to Oregon to finish my final year of college, a wash with the aftermath of September 11th, 2001, that was that year.

Seven months later, April 2002, I got a call that was my personal day of infamy, my mentor and spiritual father, Fernando Nugent, had died tragically in a car accident due to a heart attack.  It was earth shattering for me, the first real death of a loved one I had ever experienced at that time.

We spend so much of our lives focused on the daily grind, the business and busyness of life, that it often takes a tragedy like 9/11 or even a car accident to reflect on what life is all about.  I can look back on 9/11/01 and recall it as the last day I heard his voice, the voice of the man that mentored and guided me through my teenage and early twenty years, that would visit me in my dreams during the dark years of depression, his spirit attentive to my soul in the purity of purpose of a true teacher.

I told him I loved him and he answered that with his confirmation.  In the wake of such epic tragedy, I am thankful for that knowledge, that I told him, that I know he knew, and that he loved me.

Today, 18 years later, what would he think, of the world as it is today? No doubt there would be a fascination, a hunger to enact and bring forth change, a disgust of the current state of our union, and would inspire that need for action among all those he came into contact.

But on a personal level, what would he think of me? Would he be proud of me? I want to believe truly that the answer is yes.  I have fully taken on the lessons he gave me, not just those of sociological, educational, or political, as a woman embracing her power and worth, but also on a personal level.  "No guy is worth it," he would say to me as I sobbed in his arms after a break up.  I see now its more that what is said after a devastating heart break, but a true anthem.  I see now that I am capable of standing on my own two feet, able to love myself, and worthy of love.  He showed me that.  I fully appreciate when he stopped me in the hallway that day in my sophomore year, busy with the other students passing by, looked deep within my eyes, and professed, "you are magical."

Its true, I am, and not only because of his influence.

Since that time, I try my hardest to not fail to tell those I love that truth, that I love them.  Regardless of what may come in our relationship, how long or short our mutual story will transpire, my love for them is pure and true, and I will show it, make them aware.  Life is short, fleeting, and the beauty of it can be taken at the slightest of moments.

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To Sir With Love