A Time of Remembrance...May We NEVER Forget.

This is my first blog post on the new blog. Do you like the title of my blog site? I got the idea from a friend at church. I simply had to use it, because it’s just a fitting title.

So, today marks the 15^th Anniversary of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building Bombing. It’s hard to believe that 15 years ago this state that I live in became the home of terrorism; terrorism from someone who was supposed to be one of our own. Many lives were changed forever that day, including my own. You see, my father was in that building that day. He was an employee of the Veterans Affairs on the 6^th floor. He had just got up from his desk when the bomb went off. His body was thrown all the way into the other room. Pelted by glass, and not being able to see, he and others in his office crawled and found their way to a back stairwell to get out of the building. This stairwell was covered in debris and like I said, he couldn’t see. It took him a little while to figure out that he had a shard of glass stuck right through his eye. He couldn’t use his left hand and he finally decided to just pull out the glass stuck in his eye.

On the outside was help. Many people were there to offer assistance to help those who had escaped to get the medical attention that they needed. All this time, I wait in my home not knowing whether he is alive or dead. My mom and step-dad were to also be at the building that day. I couldn’t reach them by phone, so I had no idea where they were. My father-in-love also to be there; hadn’t heard from him either. Two hours later, I finally hear something from my mom. She is safe. Shortly after I get a call that my Father-in-love is safe as well. Three down, one to go. Four hours later, I finally hear the news that my dad has been taken to the hospital, he is alive. My wait seemed so long, but compared to those who never heard, I can only imagine their horror and grief. Rescue efforts continued through the night. Tirelessly the workers continued to search for possible survivors. By the time it is all over, the dogs called back and the workers told no more can be done, the death toll is 168 in all.

To close this out, I will tell you that my dad lost an eye and completely severed the tendons in his left wrist. To this day he still pulls glass out of his body. He has been changed in a way that I would rather someone not be changed. He has grown fearful in ways that he most likely would never have feared and no longer works the job that he so loved and helped so many people. If you have never been to the National Memorial, go. If you have never been to the museum, go. May we NEVER forget these lives and these people and what they have endured because of terrorism.