September 11

I went to an A's/Orioles game during Cal Ripken's farewell tour back in September of 2001. Among a throng of eager autograph seekers who lined and pressed against the infield wall before the game, I was one of the fortunate ones: he reached for and signed this baseball for me, and it now sits in a display case atop a dresser in our room. This was before marriage and kids, so it was a benchmark moment and I was thrilled.

That was a few days before 9/11. And now every time I look at it, I remember that day.

I was 23 years old, living with a pair of roommates in a house in Castro Valley. I was awakened abruptly when one of those roomies --a guy named Mike-- banged on my bedroom door. I was groggy and didn't fully realized that anyone had knocked until he did it again a few moments later. When I peered out into the living room, I found a wide-eyed Mike and Andrea --our other roommate-- staring at the TV across the room. It took me a few minutes to figure out what had happened. And a mixture of shock and horror took over. 

I spent the rest of the day alternately watching exhausted TV reporters sharing updates and silently worrying about my own family back home. I am, after all, from the DC-area, and the notion that I might have known someone at the Pentagon wasn't a silly one. It was chaotic. It was surreal. It was unspeakably awful that human beings could do this kind of thing to other human beings. And I quietly mourned the innocence that had been so violently stripped away from all of us.

But then the healing began to happen. It was slow-going, of course, but it was real and tangible. And seeing the helpers emerge --watching the first responders put their own needs last-- and watching as neighbor assisted neighbor... it was beautiful; an unexpected silver lining on an impossibly black cloud.

Twenty-five years later, I worry --often-- that we've forgotten how to be united like we were in the months and years after 9/11; that we've forgotten how to love our neighbors as ourselves. That we're so wrapped up in our own wants and desires that we forget to consider the needs of those around us. Given all that was lost that day, it would be tragic if we continued to fail to remember the very expensive lessons we learned about grace and humility. And about living and moving together as a truly united nation, which doesn't mean agreeing all the time, but does mean coexisting in peace. The healing that happened post-9/11 was a gift from God, and I feel blessed that I was able to see it for myself. And my prayer is that one day, we will again be able to love and care for one another like we did 25 years ago.