September 11, 2006
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Five Years Already
I was in the same classroom I am in now, and my desk was in the same place. That might not be so strange except that I moved to a different room the next year and just moved back this summer. I had a boy in my room who had been off epilepsy medicine for only a few months. His mother had warned me that if he should get stressed, it was likely that he would have a seizure. I don’t know if I would have responded much differently anyway, but his condition definitely affected my need to remain calm. I remember telling the kids that we really didn’t know enough to make an opinion about what had just happened. Some were saying that we were at war. I told them that it might be only a group and not a nation that was behind the attacks.
Some teachers set up a TV to watch the coverage. I had no desire to bring the pain and horror any closer than it was already. My granddaughter who wears hearing aids had the same reaction. She turned them off. We had a school assembly. Some students had no real idea of the magnitude of destruction and death. They had been numbed by movies and special effects. There were others who sobbed quietly, understanding that for many life would never be the same, realizing that those bodies in the windows were fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. I think eventually we all cried as it sunk in.
We had an assembly today to commemorate those who died and those whose lives were shattered when the buildings came down. We had a video clip of children who spoke of losing a parent. We also had a former soldier, a paramedic, firefighter, policeman, and a father who worked in finances. Each spoke of the sacrifices made that day and of the strange twists of ordinary life that can suddenly bring unexpected change. I am sure many of those kids in our assembly hugged their parents a little longer tonight. Life is so precious, and we tend to see our blessings as ordinary, not realizing how valuable the moments are until they are suddenly snatched away.
