Eight Years

Eight years ago today, is a day that I am sure I will never forget. I was eleven years old, and I had just arrived at early morning choir, one of the first ones there. Mr. DuBoise, our choir teacher, hurried in and turned on the TV. What I was seeing I hoped was just a movie or TV show. I didn't understand. We just sat there, not knowing what was going to happen. We watched in terror as the first plane hit the first building and the second as it followed. We did nothing in school that day. We watched the news all day and all we saw were the planes hitting again and again, the towers crumbling over and over, and the screams of terrified citizens running from the site. I had to grow up a lot that day. Nothing like this had happened in my life time. I was certain we were going to war, that perhaps that this was where the end would begin. I was frightened. But I will always remember how hard I prayed for our country, for President Bush, for the families of those who had died. I remember that the Church held a broadcast and we all listened as President Hinckley prayed for the same things that we had all been praying for. After that day, our country was united. Everywhere you went, people had put out their flags, and everyone felt the same. Gratitude. We knew that our country was attacked because we stood for freedom. We were grateful to be a part of that, and know that we would remain free, or die fighting for it.

"Today, Our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature, and we responded with the very best of America...America was targeted for attack because we are the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world, and no one will keep that light from shining."
-George W. Bush

Today we remember those who died, those who suffer, those who have lost, those who sacrifice, those who fight, and those who live.