in memoriam

"We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer, comfort, peace, hope and serenity. (R)"

from http://www.oklahomacitynationalmemorial.org/index.php

so, those of you who know me, know that i am a crier. i am sentimental and basically a big, ole softy. that being said, imagine my surprise, when on our way to Hannah's 10th birthday party, Nick says, "hey, I have never been to the Oklahoma City Memorial. You wanna go there tomorrow?" i almost burst into tears at the mere suggestion.

i mean, i can remember like it was yesterday when i first moved to Dallas and inadvertently happened upon "the grassy knoll." i lost it. i had to pull the car over. i had no idea i was anywhere near that part of town, but, as i approached the curve, i could feel in my spirit the contradiction that something gravely important had occurred there coupled with the sort of quiet hope that overwhelms in these somber places . i remember choosing not to visit any of the memorials or historic places surrounding the murder of JFK. until of course, i had an out-of-town guest who insisted on touring the book depository. being the good hostess that i am, i obliged. sadly, the weekend we went was a week after JFK, jr. died in a plane crash. emotions were high. i was nearly paralyzed by it. i couldn't move through the exhibit, i could barely look at those who did.

i only remember feeling that way once before. in college, i was a summer resident for high school students in the Upward Bound program, and we took the group to Santa Fe. one of the missions we toured had a mannequin dressed as Jesus covered in blood and placed in a coffin. i burst into tears and left the room. i was completely overwhelmed. i obviously knew what was being represented; obviously, i knew it was just that--a representation, but it did not matter. i melted.

since then, however, i have had that feeling twice. once the weekend of my 30th birthday in New York City. you know where this is going. my friends and i had just finished brunch, and we began walking aimlessly through the city. i remember seeing some big 9-11 memorialish mural on the side of a building, but, for some reason, it still didn't hit me that our walk was taking us directly to the site where twin towers once stood. i think seeing this hit me particularly hard because it was recent history. looking back, i can remember the same eerie silence i experienced in Dallas slowly engulfing us. at the time, i didn't recognize it until it was too late.

the second time was in Oklahoma City last weekend. after Nick mentioned going to the memorial, i got really quiet. i explained to him my hesitation, but i said if he wanted to go, we could. i just told him that i needed to know now if that was the plan, so i could try to prepare emotionally. he wanted to go, so i tried to prepare.

as we approached, my mind was more on reading directions and finding our way than on the gravity of what we were about to see. i intentionally did not even look at the site until we were going in, but as i placed the last coin in the parking meter, and began to turn around, the eerie silence returned. from across the street, i could see the survivor's tree, and i remembered that on April 19, 2005, i walked into the newsroom to prepare for that night's broadcast, after a morning full of classes, and listening in disbelief as the news director recounted the events of the day. slowly and silently Nick and i approached the 9:01 gate, and he took my hand. we walked toward the right and over to the tree. slowly, we worked our way around the memorial counter-clockwise, stopping to read every marker. i prayed at each stop. i prayed for those who died, for their families, for those who lived, for the United States, for its people and its government; i prayed for myself and for Nick and for our future children and i prayed the love of Christ would change the world. i took no pictures, it seemed irreverant.

i think part of what makes it so hard for me is that i don't want to minimize what happened there. i want to be respectful of those who died and their families, as well as to those who survived and live everyday with the memories of the tragedy. part of what makes it hard is that standing there, i recognized that i am part of something so much bigger than myself; i feel so small. and in that same moment of recognition, i feel so hopeful and powerful--like i could actually make a difference in this world. it is the cognitive dissonance of feeling proud to live in a free country that seems to come together in times of trouble, and being completely annoyed by the fact that we (Americans) think we have it all, and know it all, and should tell everyone else how to be as great as we are. it is the irony that in this free country, acts of devisiveness and derision seem to outnumber acts of kindness and generosity. sometimes i wonder who we think we are. obviously i am thankful to live here--where i can live relatively safely; where i can have children, and they can attend school relatively cost-free; where i do not have to wory about militia raping me, stealing my children and selling them into slavery, or mutilizing my female parts. obviously, i believe in the foundations upon which this country was built. i guess i just wish the nationalism of America looked more like quiet confidence reaching out than arrogant conceit demanding people do things our way.

wow, i surely did not intend for this blog to be a political rant. i apologize for that. what i intended was to encourage you (and me) to seek kindness and peace and love. what i intended was to encourage us all not only to seek those things but to be those things to others. what i intended was to encourage you to visit the memorial; it is truly a beautiful place of hope and peace. i am glad i went.