OKC Memorial

Tuesday, September 26, 1:30 P.M.
The chairs in the yard are hauntingly empty, a reminder of what we have lost. Not only the bodies and souls that might have occupied these spaces, but the innocence we knew in that time before. The memorial marks this time 9:01 on April 19, 1995, and references it often, as a reminder that there was a time when we did not know what it was to have a large-scale terrorist attack on American soil.

Maybe it is because I have a lot of kids, but I found it easy to relate to the parents in the videos today when we visited the Oklahoma City National Memorial and Museum. I was often moved to tears, and my sentiments and thoughts were just as often interrupted by my younger children who had no concept of what we were doing in this place. I wasn’t sure how I should even feel about them being there. I did not want them to be disrespectful to the memories of those who were killed in the attack, and they did not understand why everyone was so solemn.They sometimes ran over and were exuberant at buttons they could push. Other times, they were whiny and fussy that they couldn’t do what they wanted.

We kept them in line as much as we could--Bella, at 6, is old enough to understand some of what she was seeing. I was frustrated that I could not spend more time focused on the information that was presented. I wanted to give each of the victims a moment of my time, to honor their memory in some small way.

I tried to block out the bickering. It is wearing after a while. I tried to look at it in a different perspective. For the parents who lost their children--children who would be about the age of my Alex and Alyona right now--I tried to imagine what they would trade for a chance to see them today.

Toward the end of the memorial, there is a room where there is a picture of each person who died in the attack on the Murrah Federal Building. Most pictures have a small object that the family of the victim selected. One child has a pacifier, another a favorite toy. One adult had a work I.D., some had Bibles or plaques with favorite verses, others had sports items or stuffed animals. It got me to thinking: If I had to pick something to represent my life, my passion, what would that one thing be? And if my family had to choose, what would they choose as the one object that defined who I am?