Catching Up To Do

I must actually begin at the start of my journey, from when I left Bedford County on US 30. My destination was the Flight 93 Memorial in Somerset County, PA.

As I rolled up to the entrance, I turned off the radio. Immediately the silence began to creep in as I turned into the path with the newly planted trees. I had already read about the trees, and I already knew what they were for. The rebirth of hope and unity after a time of tragedy and suffering. I read the signs, and saw the views coming in. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be working on your motorcycle, or going into town for groceries when you see this plane coming down over your heads, on a crash course for the ground.

Driving up and into the site, there were native plants everywhere. It was such a sight to see. A restored field honoring those who had fallen. I really like the idea of the forty groves of trees for reflection. It signifies the ability to grow anew again, and start over. From the ground up. The very roots of their trees will anchor the future memories of those lost souls.

I got out of my car, and the day was a bit cloudy with some sun shining through to create such an omniscient light assuring us the right thing had been done. The concrete shelter and the simplicity of the black path around the edge of the crash site suited the landscape well. They were gates to a sacred place. One where silence was valued, and memories were cherished. In the distance the white staggered granite wall stood, each slab with one name on it. There were not forty slabs yet, the construction still needed to be finished. But the stark white against the black path created a negative tone, which manufactured an essence of respect.

Yet the birds and flowers were still buzzing away around the site. Reclaiming what had been destroyed.

As I was finishing examining the wall of names, clouds rolled in, and began to shade the area. Little droplets of rain tapered away as I walked. I did not have an umbrella or raincoat, but I did not mind. The rain cleansed me and the memory of the place as I paced the black walkway back to the entrance. Back to the gate.

This is the first time in my life I have ever been to a monument to a devastating attack which happened in my lifetime. So often I browse the historical parks, looking and curiously inquiring what the conditions were on the day/week/month the event happened. But for me I know exactly what life was like, exactly how I felt, and exactly where I was when these events took place. The memories are real. They still reside in my brain to this day.

And I am not sure I will ever be able to forget.