Remembering Loss

It occurred to me at some point in the last 17 months that Ammon died on the 11th of April, meaning that every year on September 11th, it would be doubly significant for me. Last year, I was too wrapped up in grief for Ammon to consider the events of that September morning 7 years ago, but this year it's been on my mind.

Like most Americans, I remember exactly where I was, and what I was doing that morning. Ammon and I were still blushing newlyweds, and living in a tiny college town in Southwestern Utah. It was the first time I'd lived away from my parents, and I had just decided to take a year off of school and focus on working. I had recently been promoted to an office position at Wal-Mart, and Ammon was still working at Pizza Hut as a delivery driver. It was a weekday morning, and I had to be to work by 8 am. Ammon had worked late the night before, and was still sound asleep when I left home. It was a slightly chilly morning, and on my way to work I stopped at a gas station to get a cup of hot chocolate. As I paid for it, I noticed that the cashier was listening to a news report on the radio. It was quiet, and I was only half-listening. I remember thinking, as I left the store, that it sounded a bit like the news reports I remembered from the Oklahoma City bombing.

I got in the car, and out of curiosity, turned on my radio. I was stunned to hear the reports of planes flying into the World Trade Center, but a small part of my brain wanted to believe that it was simply a mistake. News reports were filtering in slowly, and wild accusations were being made. A bomb? A plane that flew into the pentagon? A crash in Pennsylvania was also mentioned, but it was unclear if it was related to the tragedy in New York. The idea of a terrorist attack hadn't yet been reported.

In a daze, I drove the rest of the short distance to the store. Large televisions had recently been installed all over the store, along with the TV's that were in the office area's of the store. I'll never forget the silence of the usually bustling store when I walked in that morning. Everywhere, customers and employees were gathered around the television screens. I made my way to the back of the store, clocked in, and stood among the crowd of managers and employees gathered around the small television for a moment. I made a few phone calls to family members, and called to awaken Ammon. We didn't have cable television at the time, but he turned on the news report and we listened together in disbelief.

When the towers fell, an audible gasp went throughout the store. By the time I went on break at 10:30 that morning, I drove home to pick up Ammon and bring him to Wal-Mart so he could be with me and watch the new reports. I remember feeling an irresistible urge to have him near me, ensure that we were both safe, and to attempt to digest the horrible events that were unfolding around us. Speculation was high--where would the next attack be? Who was responsible? Was it really an attack, or a horrible accident? How would this change the shape of the future?

The day passed slowly. I don't remember getting much work done that day, and when we returned home and Ammon had to work that evening, I walked across the street to a diner that had television, so I could sit and watch the planes hit and the towers fall over and over again. Like most other people in the country, we entered a period of deep gratitude for our safety, for our loved ones, and an immense sadness at the incredible loss of life.

The events of that day have forever changed the face of our country. I don't think many of the changes have been positive, but an innocence was lost that day which will never be regained. Today, I'm remembering those who have left. Those who lost their lives in those awful days, and the loss of the man who shared it all with me. I wish life made more sense.