Messages

Thursday evening, as is my vice and habit when I have time off, I found myself in the middle of Asheboro's Books-A-Million.

I often buy books based on their titles alone.  One caught my eye Thursday night.   It was entitled, "Messages: Signs, Visits and Premonitions from Loved Ones Lost on 9/11".

The book was written by Bonnie McEneaney, who lost her husband, Eamon, when the Towers fell.  According to Bonnie, he had strong premonitions before the attacks that he was going to die.

I began reading the book as soon as I got home, but had to put it down fairly quickly because one cannot read very well through tears.  The book speaks directly to the fears that so many of us have after we've lost a loved one suddenly, unexpectedly and/or violently.

"Is (insert Mama, Daddy, Sister, Brother, Child, Cousin, Grandparent, Niece, Nephew, Friend) Okay?  Are they still with us in some fashion?  Do they know how much we loved and miss them?"

I don't have anything particularly wise or insightful to say on this most awful anniversary.  I still remember the day vividly - as if it were yesterday.  And I spent a good portion of "9/11 Eve" playing with my beloved niece and cooing over my new nephew . . . two beings who would not be here today had my brother been flying one of those planes instead of the one he landed safely in Dallas. 

I cannot contemplate, for very long, all of the lives/families that were fractured and broken and irrevocably altered . . . or the lives that will never be . . .  because nearly 3000 souls were ripped from this world in an instant by the pure evil embodied by 19 Muslim men who found their justification in the holy book of a "peaceful religion".  The sense of waste is physically painful for me . . . a darkness truly palpable. 

And even though I did not lose anyone on that horrible day, the anger & rage over what happened to my country nine years ago today - and after - still simmers deep in a part of my psyche that I choose not to visit or dwell on very often.  But it's there and it will always be there. 

I have not forgotten.  I will NEVER forget.  There are some things I will NEVER understand.  And I don't want to understand. 

I think those who disregard that pain and anger and rage . . . magnified millions-of-times-over in this sleeping giant-of-a-country . . . to force their agenda . . . waiving their "rights" in the faces of others . . . do so foolishly, with ZERO sensitivity or understanding themselves, and probably at their own peril.  Forgiveness and reconciliation and healing of this magnitude are not things that can be forced - and will most certainly not happen in any one building . . . most certainly not any time soon.  You simply cannot rub people's noses in this kind of horror and grief, and not expect to get push-back.

In short, DO NOT tell me or anyone else that we're "racists" or "religious bigots" or (best of all) "un-American" because we believe that it's not appropriate or even politically correct to build a mosque anywhere near the WTC site.  Certainly not now.  And not even close to yet. 

I do tend to drift back to a Housecalls post from 2006, when doped-up and fairly miserable/morose after sinus surgery, I tried to envision the sudden transition from this world to the next:

Have you ever been in the middle of a crowded, noisy somewhere and ever looked out beyond it . . . into a blue sky . . . or a lush green field or forest . . . or out over perfectly still/clear aqua water . . . and wondered (1) how you found yourself in the middle of the crowded/noisy somewhere and (2) why couldn’t you be OVER THERE . . . enjoying the quiet . . . basking in the light of a clear blue sky . . . or lost in fresh green fields & forests . . . or bathed in perfect aqua water?

That has always been my question when I look upon the images of 9/11 . . . especially of the people who were crowded in smoke-choked windows, and clinging to hope in the Towers before they fell. After the phone calls were made and the goodbyes were shared, what could these people see and what were they thinking in those last moments when they looked out . . . beyond the heat and the smoke and the terror . . . into a cool, clear blue autumn sky . . . the same unmarred blue sky that I vividly remember looking up to that day, my eyes swimming in tears?

I wonder if their hearts and souls craved the unreachable, perfect quiet?

Were their final thoughts a silent scream pleading, "Please God, get me out of here . . . PLEASE let me be OVER THERE!"?

And then the prayer was answered.

And so, I say again, may the God that took them away from that hell-on-earth, bless the memory and families of our martyred countrymen & women.

Author's Postscript:  I will freely admit that, for a just a few seconds of this week, I did consider burning a Qur'an.  I actually have a copy in my library - something I bought several years ago out of sheer curiosity.  But I haven't really taken the time to do more than skim it (let's just say that, in terms of "the religion of peace", I was not encouraged by what I saw). 

And I'm thinking that before I burn a book, I should probably read it.

I'm sure there's an all-American message in there somewhere;)

Update:  Apparently, it's a day for reprints.  I think this post by Michelle Malkin (from 2003) is worth a read.  Michelle laments, "Sad to say, I could have just as well written it today".