Twenty years ago today the United States, and the rest of the world, woke up wondering if what had happened the day before was real. The images of the planes hitting the Twin Towers were played over and over. Pictures of the Pentagon with the Nations Capital in the background did not make sense. And as we began to learn the story of the band of Americans that foiled the path of Flight 93, there was a sense of pride and thankfulness in the midst of great sorrow that at least there were some that fought back, even in light of the great cost of their lives.
Twenty years later I watched the footage of the harrowing sight of helpless souls that leaped to their death from the Twin Towers before they collapsed. In a strikingly similar way, we recently watched desperate Afghans cling to a C-17 taking off from Kabul, as if their chances of survival were better hanging onto an airplane traveling 400 MPH ascending to 35,000 feet than remaining to face the Taliban. I’m struck by the correlation between those two groups of people and what must have went through their minds in their moment of crisis and split-second decision.
I spent much of the day yesterday remembering what 9/11 was like for me, what it was like for the families that lost loved ones on that day, and how that day changed the course of history for many of us. Last night, I had a very sobering realization for the first time: I’ve worn our Nation’s uniform for nearly half of my life. I truly had not thought about that before. What I did think about were names like Travis VanZost and Nathan Gridiron, both were killed in Afghanistan in 2006 during my second deployment. They were killed by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). I did not know them but had met them just days before they were killed. Brian Backus, was killed in Afghanistan, on 18 June 2011. I was stationed in Alaska at the time and accompanied the Notification Officer all the way to Homer, Alaska. Brian’s parents lived in Michigan, but were vacationing in Homer during the summer at the time we went to notify them. I recently corresponded with Brian’s parents who honor his life and sacrifice every year at their home in Michigan. This year, on the 10th anniversary of Brian’s death, 15 of the men who served with him made their way to Michigan to remember. The bond between those who have served together is alive and well. Brian’s dad made sure to invite me as well if ever I’m in Michigan around 18 June. I truly hope to do that some day.
I remember the many occasions standing at the edge of the ramp of a C-17. The Dignified Transfer, as it is called, carried the remains of the fallen from the morgue, down the main street on Bagram, the well-known Disney Drive, and then onto the airfield. The war seemed to stop for a few moments on those days as both sides of Disney Drive were lined with Service Members who rendered a salute as the fallen would pass, the American flag proudly draped over each transfer case. On the airfield an honor guard awaited to carry each transfer case onboard the aircraft. My role was to lead the procession onto the aircraft and after the remains were placed on the floor of the aircraft I read a Scripture and offered a prayer of comfort. I often did not know the Soldiers who had fallen, although I ensured to learn their names and the units in which they had served. But in any case, two things were the same, they were Americans who had died honorably serving their country. Secondly, their young lives had been cut short by their ultimate sacrifice. I distinctly remember watching the ramp of the C-17’s close wondering if their families had been notified? Where were they from? Were they married? Did they have children? I imagined the Casualty Notification team back in the U.S. possibly en route to the home of a wife or parents to share the worst news imaginable even as the plane was taking off.
12 September 2001. What was normally a 20-minute drive from our off-post home to my office on Fort Bragg, North Carolina, took almost eight hours that day. On the morning of 9/11, cars freely came and went without the thought of showing an ID card, let alone being searched. On 9/12 however, everyone not only showed ID, but every car was thoroughly searched. Many serving today can hardly imagine entering a military base without stopping to show ID and even occasionally being pulled aside for a random search. I remember finally making my way through the gate and seeing the ominous precursor of things to come as Soldiers guarded the entrances to many buildings and parking lots. Concertina wire had been placed around the perimeter of many building as well. Frankly, it indeed felt like we were at war. I could sense the collective eagerness of the entire post to take the fight to the enemy. In those early days we did not know exactly who the enemy was, let alone where they were, but we soon would.
There is much more that I could share but sharing what I have is my way of putting into perspective the last 20 years, especially in light of what has happened recently in Afghanistan. Many who have served there or who have lost friends or loved ones there are trying to make sense of it as well. As such, I’m reminded and draw your attention to the words of Jesus, found in Matthew 5:3-4, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
Today, I pray the God of peace and comfort to be real to each of you, and to our Nation. As always, thanks for your support. I’ll be posting my regular blog on 15 September!
Brad