Posted on 09/06/2003 1:45:49 AM PDT by jriemer
It’s 4:46am September 6.
Its a little more than 100 hours from the Second Anniversary of Start the World Trade Center Attack and the subsequent Strike on the Pentagon and the Crash in Pennsylvania. 100 hours seems to be a long time; however, it is barely enough to reflect and remember all those who perished on the ground and in the air. Each one of the victims has a story, a life, that if retold would take more than 100 hours to appreciate the richness of their stay on this earth before it was snatched away.
Since 911, there has been more sacrifice. More have taken from this earth – this time not in tragedy but in a quest for justice and the expansion of freedom. They were not helpless victims but Heroes of liberation for the Afghanis and Iraqis and protectors of our domestic security.
We would hope that you would take the time and reflect on the lives of those who died on 9-11 and those who have sacrificed their all since that day in these next 100 hours. Please contribute a post of reflection, a prayer, a memorial, a picture or even just a ping to your friends to let them know that 9-11 has not been ignored this year.
Never forget…
The first thing we saw was the flag...the one they hung on the side of the Pentagon. It is huge....makes-your-neck-hurt-to-look-all-the-way-up huge. IT's smudged and a bit worse for wear. It's gorgeous.
There were a room where folks could sit and write their memories of 9-11. There were stations that were playing the messages left on answering machines. There was a piece of one of the plane's engines, a piece of a fire truck, shoes, briefcases, melted calculators...there was a lot of stuff.
The most amazing thing about the exhibit? There had to be at least 200 people in it, and it was SO quiet. Like a church. Not even the children and babies were making noise. The only sounds I heard were the answering machine tapes playing, and crying. Sobbing. There was a little room where they were playing TV footage of that day (ABC, what's his name? so THAT's what he looks like!). Folks would come in, sit down, and then at various points get up and leave. When the first tower collapsed, there was a collective gasp....it was like we were all hoping and praying that maybe this time it wouldn't fall, maybe this time it would be ok. It was like getting slapped in the face. But, very few of us looked away.
I think I could have touched some of the things had I wanted to, I could have written my memories. but, you know, I felt by doing that, someone would have to read how *I* felt on that day. And, it's not about me. I didn't want to take one smidgen of empathy or feelings away from those the exhibit was honoring.
It made both of us cry...it was a place we didn't want to be, but couldn't imagine not being there. Like it was our duty.
Lance was a typical NJ kid, grew up, got married, and often spent weekends having the traditional Jersey backyard BBQ with friends.
He was working in the second tower, and was on the phone with his wife, when the second attack came. I personally suspect he was killed instantly.
His brother would spend the next 24+ hours combing the hospitals of New York looking in vain for Lance.
His familiy was fortunate, for his remains were identified the first Saturday after the attack.
He was survived by his wife and some very small children.
This is Margaret L. Benson of the Port Authority who died on September 11, 2001:
I have worn her name on my arm via a Mercy Band since January 2002. This is my reminder to pray for her and her family every day. To read her bio, go here:
***Never Forget....***
(((Meekie))) and (((MozartLover))) - thank you for the ping.
An Open Letter to Our Patriotic FRiends
I indeed remember September 11th, 2001. I was on leave from an Active Guard assignment. I had just dropped The Boy off at his school, and just got in the kitchen door, when The Missus called me from work, exclaiming, "You've got to find out what's going on!" I turned on the TV, and the radio, and hopped on the 'Net, and the horror unfolded in my home, just like it did in yours.
I remember watching as the South Tower collapsed, then later, her sister. I remember my knees giving way, and sitting hard on the living room floor, eyes never leaving the images on the screen, glorious and horrible.
But, I didn't feel, and still don't feel, the things you all have told me. I have never shed a single tear for the fallen of September 11th. I have never grieved once over their murders. I have never known numbing fear of the future. At that moment, on that day, and every day since, I have known only this...
Anger.
Rage.
Fist-clenching, jaw-grinding, impotent rage at the assault on my home. Pacing through the house like a caged beast, screaming curses in a dozen languages at the obscenities flashing before my eyes. Vowing vengeance and justice for my country and my neighbors, to whichever diety was listening.
Sound good to you? Does to me.
Yes, I want war. I demand it. I demand that violence be visited upon the enemies of my nation. I demand that I be one of the fortunate ones who get the chance to face the foes of America, and hurl them screaming into Allah's arms.
Yes, I'm an intelligence geek. I work with information. But knowledge is my weapon of mass destruction, for with my knowledge I can tell the shooters exactly where these demonic tools of evil lurk, and I can cheer my comrades on as Death comes to embrace the foe.
But their ends, for all my labors, would be too quick. I want death for the enemy to be a lingering, burning, screaming, pleading death, just like the 3,000 who were murdered two years ago.
Just like my relatives who died in 1956 in Budapest, aunts and uncles and cousins I shall never know, except for letters and legends.
Just like the 11 million who perished in camps named Buchenwald and Treblinka, and gulags near places named Sary Sagahn and Krasnoyarsk.
And not long ago, I got to see it, live and in flaming color. I revelled in the vengeance from the skies, thundering gouts of flames like the anger of God.
And I get to hear it, too. Stories men bring back to us Guardsmen from across the planet, from places that end in -stan. Places where only the strong have survived, since the time of Alexander, and the Americans are proving to be the strongest of all.
I want war. I want vengeance. I want flaming holy justice to descend upon the enemies of freedom, be they Muslim or Marxist. I want blood in their streets. I want ash in their skies. And I want the cry to ring througout the land, from the book of Revalations: "Lord, Your anger is upon the wicked is righteous and just!"
If that disturbs, offends, or troubles anyone, tough. Soldiers have 1st Amendment rights, just like YOU do. Your rights are guaranteed by people like me, here and abroad. You FReep tonight, because we are ready to keep you safe to do so. Remind a soldier today, how you feel.
No, Folks, I won't forget or forgive, either. I join you today, and every day, in the loss and the anger. The job's not done. I won't stop, either.
Thank you, FRiend jriemer, for the chance to talk and to be read by all my new FRiends.
Yours,
SARGE
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