Six Years

Six years now.

Six years ago, I was sitting at this same desk when the truck drivers started talking about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. Then another one. Then the Pentagon, and the plane crash in Pennsylvania. In less than an hour and a half, the world changed.

Six years ago, only my Eldest Son was in the military, a Marine stationed in Japan. I would not be able to talk to him for two weeks.

Six years ago, we gathered at the Pub, and I saw for the first time the footage from that day:



I asked my friend, a WWII veteran, “Is this how it starts?” He said, yes, this was how a war started.

Six years ago, we were sitting outside. The wide, blue Illinois sky was free of contrails. And then, a fighter jet passed over. In just two days, it had become strange to see a plane in the air.



Six years later, we are the only family for blocks that has an American flag out in front of the house.

Six years later, we are the only family in town with a Blue Star Banner that has three stars. We are preparing, (as if you truly can) for the fourth deployment of one of our sons next month.

Six years later, I get expressions of pity because I have children serving our country.

Six years later, I get rants of rage if I say that war was the best option of many bad choices.

What a difference one day can make.