My father’s flag

Served in the United States Air Force

Recipient of the Bronze Star

Sitting here at the table thinking that eventful day. The weather was similar but the mood was so different. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing unfold on the television. Sitting on my bed in my white robe with my husband(was home with Allie, who was sick), I knew life was never going to be the same. And it hasn’t.

I think of the hearts and lives shattered that day and can’t help but think about how in other countries and places, this is a way of life, where bombs blowing apart buildings and people are laying down their lives for what they feel is a just and righteous cause.

I’m 39 years old. I,  like many other children, have put my hand over my heart to say the pledge  and even remember the bicentennial of 1976, when every park bench and fire hydrant  in Danville was painted red, white and blue.  Of my 39 years, the morning that started off sunny and crisp eight years ago, was the first time  in my gut did I feel a sense of patriotism.  Watching the plane hit the Twin Towers, watching the screaming, horrified people, I recall whispering to Pat, “We are going to war.”

And we did.

You can drive yourself insane wondering why this happened. You can look at from a million different angles. In the end, I can only say that when I sat on my porch with family, feeling stunned as we held onto our coffee cups,  I know that I would never take my family for granted–for our lives are quite fragile, as it was painfully made clear–and I know that I would not take for granted my country. Despite her flaws and imperfections, there is no place I would rather live.

May God bless America.


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