Posted on | Tuesday, April 19, 2011 | No Comments

I haven’t lived in Oklahoma all my life. I’m a transplant. I moved here with my family a few weeks after finishing high school and then came back several years later for college. Yet having lived here for several years the 1995 bombing has become a part of me. It’s something that I remember and carry. A lot of Oklahomans do. People are quieter on campus today, especially those who are older. When I turned on the radio this morning they were discussing it, too.

I was living in Texas when the bombing happened. I was nine and in third grade. The concept of what I was seeing on the television didn’t make sense. Things like that happened in bad countries to bad people. I couldn’t understand what people who were good were getting hurt. I couldn’t understand why my Mom kept shooing me out of the living room or why she was calling people in Oklahoma and so scared. My mind was too young and too small to really understand what I was seeing.

I understand it now. I’ve been to the memorial three times since living here and every time I cry. My throat burns and my legs feel as though they won’t ever find even footing. It’s so hard to look at some of the exhibits, and yet I feel I must. I think about the children, the people. I didn’t know any of them, but yet my heart breaks knowing. These were people, they deserve to be remembered.

While interning for my medical certification I treated a patient who was found in the ruble. She told me what happened to her during one of her doctor visits. It took the firefighters four hours to find her – they saw her blouse and then they saw her hand. The men were talking to her calmly and telling her not to move. When she asked why one of them said they could see daylight below her. It took five surgeries and countless hours of therapy, but she was “better”.

Years later and she was being treated for cancer. I told her I was sorry, that this wasn't fair. She smiled at me then and said that she wasn’t angry. She felt lucky. Three of her co-workers, just feet from her, didn’t leave that building alive. Her life may be harder, but it was her life and she was going to live it.

When life is hard I remember that. I remember her. Life is hard, but it is worth living. If nothing else, today tells me that.



Photobucket I was born and raised in California. I have also lived in Hungary, Texas, Alabama, Oklahoma, and I will be moving again this summer. Kael is my incredibly awesome kiddo who is growing up far too quickly, and Alex is my fiance who makes me happier than should be legally allowed. I write about them a lot. I'm mildly obsessed with cooking and photography. I write about those things, too.