Remembering An April Morning

Every year for the last 18 years, this day brings a unique pain.  That first day, such shock, disbelief, anger, grief.  The first anniversary, still sadness, the beginnings of rebuilding, hope.
By this time, the grief is old, there are scars where the wounds were.  Most of the scars have even faded.  Still, it hurts.  There are tears.  There are memories, both poignant  and repellent of that day.

It was a beautiful morning in mid-April.  One of the rare Oklahoma spring days with bright sun and a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at.  A light breeze, not the usual howling wind.  Then, a horrible noise.  I was 10 miles away, at our home in Moore, I did not hear it.  My husband called, and told me to turn on the TV.  I could not believe what I saw.  Smoke, fire, confusion in downtown Oklahoma City.  Right near our church.  I watched and listened, and prayed, hoping everyone I knew was OK.

Nobody knew what had happened at first.  Gradually, it became known that there had been some kind of bomb in a truck parked in front of the building.  McVeigh was caught purely by accident.  He had been pulled over for not having a license tag, and he was arrested for having an illegal handgun in the vehicle. Putting all this together happened over the course of a couple of days.  People wanting answers today about what happened in Boston are going to have to be patient.  There are no instant answers, but the truth has a way of pushing its way to the surface eventually.

My husband spent a few 12 hour days at the site of the blast, helping with the Air Force's contribution to the volunteer effort.  They assisted with rubble removal and any recovery as necessary.  The night they were set to bring out the remains of the Marine from the recruiting office, every volunteer that had been there that day stayed late so they could be part of a cordon of honor for that Marine.  Matt said he had never known that place to be as quiet as it was when they brought that Marine out.

When things settled down a bit, we went back to our church and became more involved than we were before.  When you almost lose something or someone, you find out how important it really is.  We have been there almost every Sunday (and Wednesday night) since.  We are in the cathedral choir, and we coordinate the "Fellowship after the 11" group that provides goodies to eat so folks will stay and chat awhile after the service.

In the aftermath of that destructive act of hate, an outpouring of love flooded over this city that was truly unbelievable.  People were angry, yes, but they were more interested in helping those left behind who had to deal with this mess than they were in revenge.  We were all profoundly sad, but there was a sweetness to offset it. The overwhelming sweetness of love.  There is a video I would like to share with this post.  It was made 3 days after the bombing by a local newscaster who is also a musician.  The song still makes me cry.  I have friends who cannot watch it at all.  The words are very good, too. 

May Boston know the healing and the love that we have known.  May this be solved quickly and justice found.  Just know that finding justice does not bring back the ones lost.  We are still missing 168 pieces of the heart of Oklahoma.  Some of them were just babies.

Here is a link to Broken Heartland by Devin Scillian.  Broken Heartland by Devin Scillian