We Will Never Forget

While visiting with my grandparents one summer, I asked them what it was like living through World War II. Their voices softened and their demeanors changed as they described the events of December 7, 1941, the day not only Pearl Harbor was attacked, but every American was attacked.

All of the pain, worry, and trauma they experienced was carried with them, even though it had been over 30 years since the attack. As they described hearing the voice on the radio announcing Pearl Harbor was under attack, they paused as their voices cracked and their eyes became misty.

As a youth, I wondered how that level of pain could still be so fresh in their hearts 30+ years after the war ended. On September 11, 2001, within a small span of time, I understood all of their emotions. From their fear of not knowing the fate of family and friends, to the immediate overwhelming flood of emotions that assailed my senses upon hearing the television newscaster say "America is under attack".

For the first time, I got it. And it tore a hole in my heart I knew would never heal, no matter how much time passed.

I fully grasped the generations of my parents and grandparents sense of strength, faith, love, unity, and pride in their country, and in themselves. Everyone jumped into action. First Responders made the ultimate sacrifice to save others, and Americans signed up to go to war to protect our freedoms.

We ARE a nation of strength, faith, love, unity, and pride...... and always will be.

16 years later, we remember. We will always remember. 

December 7, 1941 and September 11, 2001 are days which will forever be burned into our hearts and minds. They are two of the most difficult days in American history. They are also two days which brought this country together in full and complete unity like no other. May we never forget those who were lost, and may we always rise up to bring this nation together. God bless America.

  

Written by Christie Bielss

Where Were You?

From my earliest memories, my parents and grandparents spoke to me and my brothers of the trials, hardships and atrocities of World War II.  We listened intently to their stories and saw the pain, loneliness, and heartache that were written on their souls from their experiences, but we couldn't fully understand.  We had never experienced such life altering circumstances and had nothing to draw from to truly comprehend their sadness.

Within the span of a few short hours one September day, my heart and soul were changed forever and ached with a pain which could never be fully assuaged.  On this day I understood what my parents and grandparents had experienced.  Watching live television coverage of the second plane hit the World Trade Center was forever seared into my memory.  Hearing the accounts of survivors who had made it out of the World Trade Center alive left me in disbelief at the horrors they had witnessed.

As I listened to the family members of Flight 93 recount their cell phone conversations with their loved ones, I could feel their very strength and determination infusing my soul.  I could see a visible change in the faces of the news anchors as they listened.  Yes, there was an angry flame that was lit in the heart of most every American that day, but there was something more.  Something so much more.

The very heart of America was changed and we were sewn together in a bond which was impenetrable by any outside forces.  You felt that bond in the workplace, while pumping gas at the gas station, or when you were buying groceries at the store.  What was meant to drive a wedge into the heart and soul of America instead united this country and created a deep and profound resolve.  America made the choice right then to never surrender .................... and to never forget.

So on this 11th day of September 2013, 12 years later I choose to stand with my grandparents and remember so that we are never doomed to repeat our past.  12 years ago today, I was 5 months pregnant, we had just been transferred across the country for my husband's job, and I was taking my dog for a walk when the first plane hit the World Trade Center.  As I walked in the door to my home, the phone was ringing.  It was my husband telling me to turn on the television.

As I sat there watching the live coverage, the second plane hit the twin tower.  Disbelief, horror, and panic ensued.  My youngest brother had mentioned he was to be in New York at the World Trade Center.  My panic increased when I heard that one of the planes was from Boston.  My middle brother was in Boston on business and was supposed to be flying out.  And then I realized my oldest brother, a commercial pilot, was likely in the air.  All of these thoughts in a split second.

I flew to the phone.  Before I could reach it, it was already ringing.  It was my Mom........ and I could feel the uncertainty and fear in her voice through the phone line.  She told me to turn off the television and she would get in touch with all of my sister-in-laws to find out where my brothers were.

Immediately upon hanging up, my Mom's phone started ringing.  My middle brother's wife called first to say he was safe and ok.  He was stuck in Boston and the city was shut down, but he was alive and he would have to figure out a way to get home to Texas.

My youngest brother called next.  He had ended up having to cancel his trip and was not at the World Trade Center, however, he had lost friends and colleagues who were there in the World Trade Center that day.  We thanked God for altering my brother's travel plans.

Last up was my oldest brother.  He had been ordered to land in the middle of the United States, as had all air traffic, and was safe as well, albeit stuck in the boonies.  It took much longer to find out about him because he had been put into a landing rotation which required him to circle his assigned airport for quite a while until it was his turn to land.  As soon as he was on the ground, he was on the phone.

We thanked God so many times on that day because for a few short hours, my world did stop turning.  Time literally stood still as I sat and waited for word on my family members in the quiet stillness of my home.  I prayed ceaselessly in the ensuing days for my family and friends, for my Dad's co-workers and friends who were American Airlines pilots and flight attendants, for our leaders, and for all of those who were killed and injured, as well as those who lost loved ones that day.

As my parents and grandparents taught us, we will never forget and we will make sure that our children never forget.  So, where were you when the world stopped turning?

by: Christie Bielss

An Independence Day Remembered

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.” - Erma Bombeck

Every year in celebration of America's independence, my family always pauses to  thank those who came before us and sacrificed life, limb, and even their own family's safety, in order for us to live freely and to pursue our own dreams.

This celebration almost always consists of bbq, my grandmother's potato salad and deviled egg recipes, baked beans, corn on the cob, and watermelon.  And to finish off the food-fest is homemade ice cream, apple pie, and Texas sheet cake.

As part of our celebration, we always have sparklers to play with.  What would July 4th be without handing our children a 3,000°F fire on the end of the stick and telling them to be careful and not burn themselves after having just taught them not to play with matches or fire.

After the sparklers comes the grown-up's turn to play.  Over the years we've had a few minor mishaps with fireworks which have resulted in us making sure we have a garden hose close by.  We've misjudged how far the firework will shoot and have had to chase a few down.  We've also had to hose down our roof from where our neighbors have misjudged their firework's shooting distance.

But the ultimate year of firework madness came just a few years ago.  A neighbor had travelled to a bordering state and picked up some real fireworks while my husband picked up the kid-friendly ones.  All of the neighbors were standing outside ready for the show we were going to put on.  The neighbor and my husband had made some great finds!  Some shot way up in the air and exploded in a blaze of colorful glory.  Others whirled and zipped around so fast your eyes couldn't make out where the actual firework was.  They had others that sent out little spinning shooters across the ground in every direction and turned different colors.  And the kids loved the firecrackers that exploded when they threw them down on the concrete.

But like any grand finale, they saved the best for last.  They had picked up some rockets.  I moved my children and our neighbor's children into our garage thinking it would be the perfect place to protect everyone but still have a bird's eye view of the show.  My car was in the garage, so if the kids got scared, they could hop in it and look through the windows.  Another Mom decided that was a good, safe place to stand, so the 2 of us stood in the garage with the kids.

The men had to figure out which end was the shooting end of the rocket since it didn't have an arrow pointing "this end up".  They positioned it on our driveway so the fireworks weren't going toward anyone's house and would shoot directly into the center of the street.  With excitement that positively crackled in the air, they lit the rocket launcher's wick. 

The first rocket exploded out of the launcher's canon with lightning speed ........... and went straight into our garage.  "Oh cr*p!" my neighbor said, "those idiots turned the rocket launcher the wrong way!".  The rocket was launching fire balls in rapid succession at all of us in the garage!  We were having to jump as high as we could in the air to avoid getting hit in the legs and shins!

The kids in the garage were standing there screaming as we grabbed them by the arms and flung them bodily out of the garage while hopping over rockets.  My husband and the neighbor had to time grabbing the launcher perfectly in order to flip it around and not have one of the rockets launch directly into themselves, or any of the neighbor's windows, or, heaven forbid, the groups of people standing around. 

Luckily, nothing caught on fire from the fireballs exploding in the garage and no one was injured during the incident.  I can't say that 2 men didn't get a verbal beating when the rocket finally quit firing and we were able to regain our breath. 

Every time I hear our national anthem played and they get to "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air", it reminds me of having to jump the rockets.  We decided after this experience that we should invite the local fire department to our party every year.  We could feed them some bbq and play some yard games........... before they have to rescue us or put out whatever fire we inevitably start.

by: Christie Bielss