When the Smoke Clears

There was almost a smile on my face today. It wasn’t rebellion against the somber moments of memory of the significance of the day. In fact, it was because of it, because of the people who came together in respect and in the understanding of our mission.

As I was reading to catch up on the news as well as the email of the weekend, there were others across the nation memorializing the moments when each plane struck with a moment of silence.

That’s not how we do things around here.

Windows opened out into the morning mist and cool air in offices around town otherwise sealed tightly. At the times when others called for silence, we FELT the moment. The cannon boomed, louder than normal, shaking the buildings just a little… more than a fleeting thought but a feeling of the moment to the core. People opened their windows because they knew it was coming, they didn’t want to miss the moment as they went through their day.

It seemed only a few minutes later when the next canon shot. And again, a few minutes later. And again.

A little after noon hundreds gathered together on the field to remember, to honor our friends and family whose lives were shaped by that day, calling them to service.

Finally the moment of silence, which we broke again with the 21-gun salute followed by taps.

This is why I am here.

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