Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters… The blast killed 168 people (19 of them children) and injured hundreds.
When I moved my family to Oklahoma during the Summer of 2002, one of the first “touristy” things we did was to pay a visit to the memorial in Oklahoma City. The Field of Empty Chairs, the Gates of Time, the Reflection Pool, and my personal favorite: the Survivor Tree.
As well as the heartrending sculpture: “…and Jesus wept.”
I remember first hearing about the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. I had skipped school that day and was hanging out at a friend`s house watching television.
What was, for me, a lackadaisical morning of leisure was immediately riveted by what had occurred two minutes after nine o`clock.
Many of the images of that day remain with me, the most poignant being the image of one year-old infant Baylee Almond dying in the arms of OKC firefighter Chris Fields. Even through the haze of my own atheistic misanthropy, my human heart was ravaged by the needless loss of life – especially the pain and suffering of the wee little ones, who knew so little of the world yet were already victims of its cruelty.
Time meanders along unceasing, and one tragedy gives way to another… people forget, and go back to their lives of quiet desperation.
Days turn into years, and we shall forget… we always forget.