It seemed appropriate that it was pouring bucketfuls of rain this morning when I got up. With the blinds closed, it was as dark in our room at nine o clock as it was in the middle of the night--a little bit darker, perhaps, since the bright floodlight located just outside our window was turned off.*
But I didn't even realize the date until yesterday when I got a homework assignment with the due date, 9/11, written on the top. I've been so busy with school and crew and social things that I've lost track of the days, and today is like any other Tuesday except for the date at the top of my notes for Islamic Civilization class. And I wonder to myself whether or not that's right, whether or not I should mark the day somehow.
I really don't know.
*this floodlight is bright enough that I don't actually need my bedside lamp to read before I go to bed.
Showing posts with label remembrance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembrance. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Five Months Remembrance
Two little girls play crazy Barbie games in a room with a white painted floor with multicolored splashes. Suddenly a knock on the door comes.
"Who is it?" they call.
"Special Delivery!" comes the answer, and suppressing giggles the girls rush to hold the door closed. It rattles and the voice calls again, "Special Delivery! Open up!"
They wait in breathless silence and then finally open the door to peer out into the hallway.
"SHARK ATTACK!" and the girls are chased back into the room in a pile of shrieks and giggles.
Ten years later and five months ago that safe world crumbled. It seems like yesterday and yet an eternity ago that my friend's dad went to his eternal home. In brief flashes, the bright and cheery weather seems almost mocking that he won't be able to go out bike riding in it. Every time I panic that I've lost my house key there is a background of sadness that he won't be there across the street to lend me their spare. And as my friend and I start getting ready now to leave home, it's hard that he isn't here to be proud of her.
I didn't know what to say then and I don't know what to say now. Life goes on, but it's not the same.
"Who is it?" they call.
"Special Delivery!" comes the answer, and suppressing giggles the girls rush to hold the door closed. It rattles and the voice calls again, "Special Delivery! Open up!"
They wait in breathless silence and then finally open the door to peer out into the hallway.
"SHARK ATTACK!" and the girls are chased back into the room in a pile of shrieks and giggles.
Ten years later and five months ago that safe world crumbled. It seems like yesterday and yet an eternity ago that my friend's dad went to his eternal home. In brief flashes, the bright and cheery weather seems almost mocking that he won't be able to go out bike riding in it. Every time I panic that I've lost my house key there is a background of sadness that he won't be there across the street to lend me their spare. And as my friend and I start getting ready now to leave home, it's hard that he isn't here to be proud of her.
I didn't know what to say then and I don't know what to say now. Life goes on, but it's not the same.
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