Where Were You?

I remember in Elementary school being given the assignment of asking my mom where she was when JFK was assassinated. She was in class at BYU when the news was announced. And though she didn't have an elaborate story to share about the experience, I thought it was intriguing that she actually remembered where she was. I wondered if anything so significant as that would happen in my lifetime.

My third year in high school I was on my first date with a boy I was actually interested in. We were walking in to the movie theater to see "Excess Baggage" (dumb show by the way) when a guy in the group got an alert on his cell phone that Princess Diana had died in a car crash. Wow, that seemed significant. And though it didn't have a direct impact on me, I made note of where I was so I would be able to tell my children when, and if, they were ever given the same assignment that I had.

Then my third year of college rolled around. I was sleeping in one morning, missing another session of my laborious, early-morning music theory class. Suddenly I awoke to my roommate bursting into the room yelling that the Twin Towers in New York had been bombed. Actually, I don't remember what she was yelling. I was trying to sleep. But she seemed frantic enough, that I decided to indulge her and got out of bed and walked into the front room where the tv was on. I sat down in shock and watched as two icons of America burned. Then my shock turned to horror as they crumbled to the ground. It still seems like a dream, especially since I was awakened in such a panic and honestly thought I was dreaming. I think I remember going to my afternoon classes, though most of them were canceled and students walked around campus in a daze. Did something so tragic as that really happen? Here in America? We knew nothing of such attacks. It was unfathomable. And now, eight years later, it still seems so surreal. The hundreds of lives that were lost, the terror that struck the nation. I still can't comprehend it all. And though it was tragic and uncomprehendable, and I cried during the news stories and memorial services, it didn't directly affect me. But I definitely remember where I was.

And then my third year of motherhood came around. While exchanging some Christmas gifts at Macey's I got a call on my husband's cell phone, which I had with me. It was my sister. Mom had a seizure and was in critical condition. Details unknown. Pray for her. I went into a dressing room stall and knelt down, unsure what to say. I wanted so badly to pray that Mom would be okay. That everything would be fine. But as the tears streamed down my cheek the only thing I could find myself saying was to bless the doctors to know how to help her and most especially to bless my dad. I spent what seemed like an eternity on that dressing room floor trying to understand what it meant. Why couldn't I pray for her? But I knew why. And as I got that second phone call while walking out of the store entrance red-faced and puffy-eyed, and I heard the words "she is gone," it was simply a confirmation of what I already knew had happened. I couldn't pray for her to live because she had already passed to the other side. And though I was in hysterics, crying uncontrollably on that drive home from the mall, I was so grateful to have had that prayerful realization. It made that awful and life-altering loss mildly bearable. And I will ALWAYS remember where I was that day.