Flashbulb Memory (noun) a memory laid down in great detail during a highly personally significant event. These memories are perceived to have a "photographic" quality. For example, a great many people can remember exactly where they were when they heard of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 or the assassination of John F. Kennedy or John Lennon. (Webster)
With both sons away at college and my husband in Philadelphia on a business trip, that Tuesday morning in September was unusually quiet and peaceful in my little corner of the world.
I made it all the way to the hospital before I was alerted to the catastrophic events unfolding in NYC. Walking into a patient’s room to begin therapy, the unbelievable images on the television slowly seeped into my brain. I calmly excused myself and went to the therapy office, where fear and confusion had erupted among my young co-workers. I distinctly remember one therapist on the phone, sobbing to her mother, telling her over and over how much she loved her.
Another young student was sitting quietly in shocked silence as hot tears streamed from her disbelieving eyes. I wrapped my arms around her in motherly comfort, having nothing else to give her. There were no words, only the unspoken understanding that everything had suddenly changed.
I looked up to see my boss searching the room, watched as his eyes settled on mine. He came over to me and with great concern asked if I had spoken to Dickie. I did not know what he had just learned. That a third plane had exploded on impact right outside of Philadelphia.
In spite, or perhaps because of the horror that had filled the morning, I hadn’t given a thought to the fact that my husband might be so close to the tragedy. I told my boss that Dickie was supposed to have flown out of Philadelphia earlier that morning. He said, “You need to call him, Robin. Another plane just went down.”
As I heard his words, I stopped for a moment to check my heart. My heart has carried Dickie around inside for so many years, I knew there would be a physical change in rhythm if he were not okay. Even so, he had never felt so far away.
It took awhile to get through to him. All circuits were busy. When I finally heard his sweet, ‘Hey, baby…are you okay?”, I felt the world shift shakily back onto its axis. Beyond being frustrated and helpless – and oh so sad – he was okay. All flights had been cancelled, all rental cars had been rented. On the day of the worst tragedy in history, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his family but was powerless to do anything but return to his hotel and wait.
In the hours and days that followed, my time was either spent in front of the TV or on the phone. There were endless conversations with my sons, with my mother, and with Dickie, who was slowly going crazy trapped in his hotel room. All of us shared our frustration and our fear, hopelessly trying to make sense of a senseless act, trying to find words of reassurance. With each image of Ground Zero, of the Pentagon, of the field in Pennsylvania, we all felt the impact of those airplanes like a punch to the chest. We shared in the unspeakable grief for the thousands that had been impacted directly.
I remember calling my 93 year old grandmother who suffered from dementia and had a hard time figuring out the world on a good day. I called my Flodie at her supervised group home, just wanting to hear her precious voice. Her caregiver answered and said my grandmother was agitated, but fine. As soon as she heard my voice Flodie excitedly said, “Robin, I think something bad might have happened.” I said, "Why do you think so?” She replied, “It was on TV...somebody made a mess.”
“I think you’re right, Flodie,” I said. “Somebody made a big mess...”
Two days later, Dickie was able to connect with a friend from Amarillo who was also stuck in Philadelphia. They had somehow secured one of the last rentals to be found and drove straight through to Texas in 22 hours.
With Dickie safe at home, I was finally able to release my feelings - on paper. This is the letter I sent to my sons:
===========================================
September 15, 2001
Lucas & J.P.,
What a week! You guys don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to pick up the telephone during this past week just to hear your voices, and how thankful I am to God that I was able to do so. Part of me wanted to have you close to me at home; but most of me felt peace knowing that you were at ACU, praying in Chapel, praying in groups, praying all alone for our people and our country.
What has happened this week affects all of us deeply. Beyond that, the results of Tuesday’s Terrorism will have a profound effect on My Grandbabies-To-Be. I thank God that my sons have had the privilege of making it into manhood without directly knowing the threat of war. No matter what the near future may bring as a result of this terrorism, I believe that both of you are mature enough and strong enough in your faith to deal with it. But I’m selfish enough to admit that it really infuriates me that My Grandchildren will not be able to grow up with the same sense of security. And I can’t help but wonder what kind of world they will inherit…
I’d like to think that there will be ‘trade-offs’. My little blue & green-eyed (brown-eyed?) Grandbabies will be born into a nation left with obscene scars that were unimaginable to us less than one week ago. But they will never grow up taking their freedom for granted, as our generations have done. My Grandbabies will never think that it’s ‘corny’ to sing the national anthem or question the tears that form in the eyes of their parents and grandparents when we hear their sweet voices singing of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. The words to the Pledge of Allegiance – One Nation, under God - will never be empty words, but words of promise and hope to My Grandbabies. Most of all, I believe that My Grandbabies will grow up depending on God with their every breath, not just in times of chaos and trouble. I believe that their faith will be stronger, their hearts will be softer, their pride indestructible. I’m sad that some asshole from Afghanistan has shaken the physical foundation that I believed would remain intact for My Grandbabies. But I thank God that they will grow up in a world whose eyes have been opened, and whose spiritual foundation became renovated, reconstructed and reinforced on 9-11-01.
I challenge you both to be an active part in helping to bring our nation back to God. I want My Grandbabies to know and believe in foundations that can’t be broken apart by cowards and unbelievers. I challenge you to stay strong and keep the faith. You are My Baby Boys and I love you both more than you could ever know.
Mom
Psalm 46
===========================================
Ten years later…I now have three of those blue-eyed grandbabies. Three beautiful souls full of innocence and hope, who are not yet old enough to understand the monstrous evil unleashed upon our nation a decade ago.
The fact that Islamic terrorists wanted revenge is not what is important for them to understand about 9/11. What I hope they will understand is the amazing bravery of the First Responders; how everyday people turned into heroes; how we should never take our liberties – or our life – for granted. I hope they come to realize that in spite of the best efforts of a cowardly band of terrorists, we still remain the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Most of all, I hope they will grow up to be the kind of people that speak these words as a prayer...that will whisper or sing or shout these words with a hand proudly placed over a heart filled with faith:
GOD BLESS AMERICA.
With both sons away at college and my husband in Philadelphia on a business trip, that Tuesday morning in September was unusually quiet and peaceful in my little corner of the world.
I made it all the way to the hospital before I was alerted to the catastrophic events unfolding in NYC. Walking into a patient’s room to begin therapy, the unbelievable images on the television slowly seeped into my brain. I calmly excused myself and went to the therapy office, where fear and confusion had erupted among my young co-workers. I distinctly remember one therapist on the phone, sobbing to her mother, telling her over and over how much she loved her.
Another young student was sitting quietly in shocked silence as hot tears streamed from her disbelieving eyes. I wrapped my arms around her in motherly comfort, having nothing else to give her. There were no words, only the unspoken understanding that everything had suddenly changed.
I looked up to see my boss searching the room, watched as his eyes settled on mine. He came over to me and with great concern asked if I had spoken to Dickie. I did not know what he had just learned. That a third plane had exploded on impact right outside of Philadelphia.
In spite, or perhaps because of the horror that had filled the morning, I hadn’t given a thought to the fact that my husband might be so close to the tragedy. I told my boss that Dickie was supposed to have flown out of Philadelphia earlier that morning. He said, “You need to call him, Robin. Another plane just went down.”
As I heard his words, I stopped for a moment to check my heart. My heart has carried Dickie around inside for so many years, I knew there would be a physical change in rhythm if he were not okay. Even so, he had never felt so far away.
It took awhile to get through to him. All circuits were busy. When I finally heard his sweet, ‘Hey, baby…are you okay?”, I felt the world shift shakily back onto its axis. Beyond being frustrated and helpless – and oh so sad – he was okay. All flights had been cancelled, all rental cars had been rented. On the day of the worst tragedy in history, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his family but was powerless to do anything but return to his hotel and wait.
In the hours and days that followed, my time was either spent in front of the TV or on the phone. There were endless conversations with my sons, with my mother, and with Dickie, who was slowly going crazy trapped in his hotel room. All of us shared our frustration and our fear, hopelessly trying to make sense of a senseless act, trying to find words of reassurance. With each image of Ground Zero, of the Pentagon, of the field in Pennsylvania, we all felt the impact of those airplanes like a punch to the chest. We shared in the unspeakable grief for the thousands that had been impacted directly.
I remember calling my 93 year old grandmother who suffered from dementia and had a hard time figuring out the world on a good day. I called my Flodie at her supervised group home, just wanting to hear her precious voice. Her caregiver answered and said my grandmother was agitated, but fine. As soon as she heard my voice Flodie excitedly said, “Robin, I think something bad might have happened.” I said, "Why do you think so?” She replied, “It was on TV...somebody made a mess.”
“I think you’re right, Flodie,” I said. “Somebody made a big mess...”
Two days later, Dickie was able to connect with a friend from Amarillo who was also stuck in Philadelphia. They had somehow secured one of the last rentals to be found and drove straight through to Texas in 22 hours.
With Dickie safe at home, I was finally able to release my feelings - on paper. This is the letter I sent to my sons:
===========================================
September 15, 2001
Lucas & J.P.,
What a week! You guys don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to pick up the telephone during this past week just to hear your voices, and how thankful I am to God that I was able to do so. Part of me wanted to have you close to me at home; but most of me felt peace knowing that you were at ACU, praying in Chapel, praying in groups, praying all alone for our people and our country.
What has happened this week affects all of us deeply. Beyond that, the results of Tuesday’s Terrorism will have a profound effect on My Grandbabies-To-Be. I thank God that my sons have had the privilege of making it into manhood without directly knowing the threat of war. No matter what the near future may bring as a result of this terrorism, I believe that both of you are mature enough and strong enough in your faith to deal with it. But I’m selfish enough to admit that it really infuriates me that My Grandchildren will not be able to grow up with the same sense of security. And I can’t help but wonder what kind of world they will inherit…
I’d like to think that there will be ‘trade-offs’. My little blue & green-eyed (brown-eyed?) Grandbabies will be born into a nation left with obscene scars that were unimaginable to us less than one week ago. But they will never grow up taking their freedom for granted, as our generations have done. My Grandbabies will never think that it’s ‘corny’ to sing the national anthem or question the tears that form in the eyes of their parents and grandparents when we hear their sweet voices singing of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. The words to the Pledge of Allegiance – One Nation, under God - will never be empty words, but words of promise and hope to My Grandbabies. Most of all, I believe that My Grandbabies will grow up depending on God with their every breath, not just in times of chaos and trouble. I believe that their faith will be stronger, their hearts will be softer, their pride indestructible. I’m sad that some asshole from Afghanistan has shaken the physical foundation that I believed would remain intact for My Grandbabies. But I thank God that they will grow up in a world whose eyes have been opened, and whose spiritual foundation became renovated, reconstructed and reinforced on 9-11-01.
I challenge you both to be an active part in helping to bring our nation back to God. I want My Grandbabies to know and believe in foundations that can’t be broken apart by cowards and unbelievers. I challenge you to stay strong and keep the faith. You are My Baby Boys and I love you both more than you could ever know.
Mom
Psalm 46
===========================================
Ten years later…I now have three of those blue-eyed grandbabies. Three beautiful souls full of innocence and hope, who are not yet old enough to understand the monstrous evil unleashed upon our nation a decade ago.
The fact that Islamic terrorists wanted revenge is not what is important for them to understand about 9/11. What I hope they will understand is the amazing bravery of the First Responders; how everyday people turned into heroes; how we should never take our liberties – or our life – for granted. I hope they come to realize that in spite of the best efforts of a cowardly band of terrorists, we still remain the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Most of all, I hope they will grow up to be the kind of people that speak these words as a prayer...that will whisper or sing or shout these words with a hand proudly placed over a heart filled with faith:
GOD BLESS AMERICA.
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