Ten years ago there was no time for me to cry; we were re-building part of an Interstate highway and under the (almost) silent sky we listened to radio reports of the unfolding of the day's events and somehow managed to just keep doing what we had to be doing.
At least the drivers and others listened. My radio was turned off shortly after reports started coming in; I couldn't listen and continue working. It didn't take long for the drivers to stop their radio chatter about it, or for them to stop up-dating me. Being one of very few women on the project I reckon they were 1) being protective; and 2) following orders to prevent me from falling apart and effectively shutting down operations.
Now the tears come, as they have come on this date in other years. Because now I can weep.
Part of it is grief, for the ones lost and their families. Part of it is mourning the loss of a sort of innocence that day shattered for me. Part of it is sentimental patriotism, the kind that makes my eyes leak every time I see a flag being saluted, or hear our National Anthem. Part of it is pride for the heroes of the day, for the crew I was working with that day, for all of us who felt that tragedy in our country as we have felt other tragedies before and since, to the DNA in our cells, because we are Americans. Because we do what we have to do no matter what.
You can put us down, you can shoot us down, you can take us down, but YOU CAN NOT KEEP US DOWN.
We the People will ALWAYS get back up again. No matter what. We may go to our knees, but we'll stay there only just long enough to say a prayer before we're on our feet taking our stand.
Anyone who thinks otherwise doesn't know the same farmers that I know. They don't know the same construction workers, the same women and children, the same ordinary everyday Americans that I know.
Until that day I had never really had reason to wonder about the patriotism, or the readiness to bear arms in defense of the United States, of the ordinary everyday Americans around me. I suppose I just took it for granted.
That day I learned not to take it for granted. By the end of that day, NOBODY had to wonder.
On my way home from work to my daughters that evening I stopped for gas. There were more than the usual number of people at the gas station. On that evening there was none of the usual bantering, no laughter, no jokes, not a smile to be seen. The faces of those people were not afraid. They were not overtly angry. The faces I saw that day and that evening, and in the following days, were not in shock. They were steady on, quietly determined, and they were the faces of ordinary everyday Americans who were very READY. Ready for anything that anyone wanted to throw at them.
I heard discussions about weapons and ammunition. I saw nods of approval when the airforce planes (the only movement in our sky) made themselves known. North Dakota has two air bases, one in Minot and one in Grand Forks. I listened to snatches of conversations about family preparedness plans.
What I did not see that day or in the days following is an impressive testament to ordinary everyday Americans. I did not see weeping and wailing. I did not see anyone cowering in fear. I did not see anyone throwing tantrums of rage.
Yes there was anger, and there was rage, but it wasn't loud. It wasn't the yelling and screaming kind of anger. It was that quiet deadly rage that ought to instill fear in anyone in the cross-hairs. Nobody was going to go off half-cocked, but everyone had their finger on the trigger.
I would venture to wager (if I were a gambling sort of person) that there are as many weapons in ND as there are people, maybe more - and that's not counting the military presence.
Until that day it was another thing I had never really given much thought to. Everyone hunts; that's been sort of a given for all of my life. Deer, varmints, birds ... whatever. That's just the way it is. Bows, black powder, shotguns, rifles - they're not exactly uncommon in this neck of the woods. It's nice to know that our people are ready willing and able to use them for defense as well as sustenance.
Just sayin' ...
When I got home that evening, I gathered my girls close. Because that was what making it through that day was all about. That's the bottom line, for me and for everyone else. Our children, our families. As indivuals, as a whole, as a people, as a nation - just as our families have done since they came here to develop and sustain this country, We the People stand ready. Woe to anyone who doubts us.
Just in case anyone is wondering, it's not just the military of the United States that has the right to bear arms. We PREFER peace and prosperity for all, liberty and justice for all. We are not apt to up and start blasting away for no good reason. But be assured that, pushed too far, triggers will be fingered and safeties will be off.
That's one lesson I learned ten years ago on this day, from ordinary everyday Americans much like myself. Cold hard faces with hot dry eyes are reassuring to those they shelter; they are to be feared by those who threaten.
The grieving for the lost ones never really stops, you know. It pops up at odd moments out of the blue, just as that day seemed to. We do not forget those who are gone from us. What we do is find a way to remember them, to honor them, that is worthy. Each of us has a life to live, one moment at a time to give, to pay homage to those who are gone on ahead as well as to show respect to our selves and others.
That Friday we had gotten word from management that there would be no pause in our day, at the time set aside for America to silently acknowledge and reflect on the events of that day, regardless of what we wanted.
When the time came I got on the business radio and announced that the scale was closed for thirty minutes. Just that, no explanation, no embellishment, no reason. I expected the trucks to start piling up but they didn't. Later the reason came clear. None of the drivers, not one, failed to immediately stop wherever he was. My end of the project was shut down. The operator of the milling equipment, on the other end of the project, had come to the same conclusion that I had and had stopped his eqiupment, and his end of the project, at the same moment I had shut down the scale. We were worlds apart, for all practical purposes. I don't think I ever laid eyes on the man, and the only communication between us was that I think I asked the drivers to get a message to him from me, a simple two word message: Thank you.
There was never a word of remonstrance from management, it was not ever mentioned again, but we had our thirty minutes of reflective silence regardless of what the bosses wanted. At the end of the thirty minutes, everything resumed immediately as we all carried on as usual.
That's another thing I learned. By our collective will, we took those few moments to honor our country, our fellow-Americans, and each other. We didn't discuss it, we didn't debate it, we didn't sit down and talk about planning it; we just did it. Two people making independent personal choices - and the collective will of everyone else involved - got the desired result.
It was a very small thing in the much larger picture, but it is of such small things that bigger things are made.
Everywhere across our country, at that particular time on that particular day, everyone had a personal choice to make: to take a few moments for reflection or not to.
I had no way of knowing that I was not alone; I did it anyway. I chose. Every one of us on that project chose.
Ordinary everyday Americans chose and, in the choosing, took their stand.
Let it be remembered.
Remember nine eleven.
Remember the ones lost. Remember the silent sky. Remember the cold hard faces and the hot dry eyes. Remember the quiet rage. Remember the choices of the ordinary everyday Americans.
We do remember.
We choose to remember. We choose. We the People. We do the choosing.
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