Remembering, Part 2

The Broken Cross that was atop our Cathedral.

Our regular 11 am church service was attended at about the usual level for a post-Easter Sunday.  Not a big crowd.  I saw several faces that were here 20 years ago.  Our current Dean, however, was not.  He spoke in his sermon about how it was impossible for those not here at that time to really understand how the bombing affected us.  He's right.  There's no real way to explain it. 
In my case, the bombing threatened the one place here in Oklahoma City that had become a place of comfort for me:  St. Paul's.  We may not have attended every week, but we went fairly often, and St. Paul's was a place I WANTED to be after that horrible morning, a place I needed to feel centered, closer to God.  Though the church was still standing, there was a LOT of structural damage to the Cathedral itself.  The Parish House and Dean Willey Hall were all right, if a bit banged up, but the Cathedral couldn't be used.  It took us two years to get it back in service. 
Saint Paul's gave me a way to be useful in the recovery efforts.  I volunteered to help in the garden, I helped stuff envelopes and served on a committee or two, but Matt and I found our true calling when we tried out for Cathedral Choir and were accepted.  We've been there ever since.  20 years in July.  We also helped by providing good things to eat after the 11 am service at least one Sunday a month, so people would stay and chat awhile instead of rushing off.  We did that for many years, until it became too much of a financial burden and logistical strain.  For awhile, there  were others, and then, all of the sudden, it seems, there was no one else wanting to help.  Needs change, and there just hasn't been the demand for our "after the 11"  time anymore. 

I have never gone to walk the outdoor portion of the Memorial.  I took my Mom and my sister and aunt to the museum, but it was warm out, and my Mom and my aunt didn't really want to walk around outside that much.  Matt doesn't really want to go to the museum.  He says he'd rather not remember all the things he saw and felt during the recovery effort.  He went to all the debriefs, and made sure his Airmen went, too, but he's done with it.  Maybe because all I could do was watch and wait, I want to remember, to see how far we've come.  But I cry whenever I see the pictures of the Coverdale boys.  Their aunt worked in Matt's squadron.  I had seen their pictures on her desk.  To see them in that museum, and know those little ones were gone, it just really got to me. 

For awhile this afternoon, we had bright sun, then the clouds rolled in, and we had a little thunderstorm.  Now the sun is back for the most part, the wind chasing clouds across it now and then.  This day, when the sun is shining, looks a lot like that day did.  Bright, unbelievably beautiful blue Oklahoma sky.  Until you saw the smoke.  Until you heard the news.  Until the tears made it rain all over this state.  That's when everybody started taking roll call in their heads.  "Where's so and so? They weren't headed downtown, were they?"  The phone calls to friends and family who work downtown, the anxious waiting.  Then the news.  The neighbors and friends of friends lost, the fellow parishioner injured, all the children lost and hurt.  Dear God, the poor little children, who hadn't done anything to anybody.  The beauty of the weather that day seemed surreal in contrast to all that was happening. 

Today's weather is moody.  The sunlight comes and goes, storms threaten and back off.  It is so much more representative of what that day was like emotionally. 
I sat in the loft today, as I always do on Sundays, and I thought of the people of our parish that made a difference that day who aren't with us anymore.  Especially Jim and Nick.  Jim was getting Mobile Meals ready to deliver that Wednesday morning, and refused to leave the kitchen until they were all out. Even when there was a scare about a possible second bomb, and they were evacuating the area.  Nick ran to the YMCA daycare to check on some of our youngest parishioners, who attended that daycare.  He found at least one, and offered the comfort of a familiar presence until their parents could get to them.  They have both passed on.  I miss them.  I marvel at how grown up all the children are who were so tiny in those days.  All young adults and beginning to make their mark on the world these days.  Those kiddos all know how much they are loved.  The losses that day made us all more aware of those precious little ones in our lives, and made us all more appreciative, and perhaps a little more patient, a little more likely to listen. 

This has not been as eloquent as perhaps some of my previous posts have been.  This year, I have had less time to ponder things.  I have been busy with things that I did not have in my life when the bombing happened.  The realization that tomorrow is not guaranteed helped get me moving, and now I have a job and responsibility I didn't have then.  I have had this job for 16 years now, but I have never gotten to attend an out of state conference before, and I just got back from one, so my brain is full of that, and how to process that, and what paperwork I have to complete, and so I have not had time to ponder the fact that the bombing was 20 years ago. 
All I can tell you is, the events surrounding that bombing are what began the process of us adopting Oklahoma as home.  Matt was still active duty at the time.  We didn't have to stay here when he retired a few years later, but we had become attached to this place, to the people, to our church, our community.  The Oklahoma Standard is a real thing.  It is an attitude that you see nearly every day.  People here watch out for each other.  Kindness is surprisingly common.    I only hope we can all live up to that standard as time goes on.

Lovely, Sad April Once Again

April is a month that makes us feel vulnerable here in the Oklahoma City metro area.  No major tornadoes to remember this month, but bad storms, and the chance of tornadoes appears in April usually after a winter respite. 
No, April's lovely soft sunny mornings have been clouded for us by a memory of evil.  A memory that was burned into our hearts on April 19, 1995.  It was such a beautiful, sunny, pleasant morning.  Then the news reports started coming out about an explosion downtown.  The smoke visible on the horizon.  The worry about friends we knew worked down there.  The fear for the children we knew in the YMCA daycare near there, the church, which is only a block or two away.

I watched the news that morning in shock and with dread.  I saw familiar faces, most just in obvious shock, but one with blood on it.  It still hurts, to think about the damage to so many lives caused that day, the children lost, the sense of security we lost.  The many, many scattered pieces of our lives in downtown that had to be picked up and reassembled as best we could. 

Our church had significant damage, and it took us many years to complete all the restorations.  We never lost the most important thing, though, our love for one another, and our sense of God's love.  We are still in downtown, and we are still thriving.

Perhaps that is true of everything downtown, we are put back together physically, and for the most part, spiritually as well.  The Oklahoma City National Memorial has helped a lot with that sense of putting ourselves back together.  It is a very healing place.  A very peaceful and beautiful place.  The museum is very moving, jolting some of us back  to very clear memories of that day. 

Next year marks 20  years since the bombing.  VERY hard to believe.  Doesn't seem like it can possibly have been so long, and yet, the worst of the visible scars are long healed, and many of the psychological ones are well on the way. 

It still shocks me that anyone remotely human could have parked that truck there, under windows where they knew little children were playing, and set that explosion in motion.  Such hatred, and such misdirected violence did not solve anything.  They only presented a new set of problems.  This tragedy injured Oklahoma deeply, but it also strengthened our resolve.  That was the day I adopted Oklahoma, and vowed to stay help mend this broken heartland.  The great outpouring of love and determination to do the right thing that the world saw here was a true blessing.  People in Oklahoma are pretty tough.  You have to be to live in a place where the land and the weather turn on you at a moment's notice.  Makes us good at getting back up, at reaching out to give our neighbor a hand, at joining hands and standing strong.  When it REALLY matters, people here don't care about the things that usually divide us.  They remember that all we have is each other, good, bad, or indifferent, and they reach out and hold on to one another.  That's what made me adopt this place, that's why I stay. 
We saw it again last year when the tornadoes came.  The rest of the world responds to that by remembering that all ANY of us has is each other, and they send help, or come to help, and even though the events like the tornadoes and the bombing are horrible, they remind us that we are NOT alone or forgotten here. 
Today, the wind is high, but the sun is bright, and the sky is a beautiful blue that I have only ever seen in Oklahoma.  I don't know what Saturday will be like, since that is the actual anniversary, but this lovely morning reminded me of that lovely, doomed morning 19 years ago when I became an Oklahoman.

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