The Day Highlighted in Pink

Drip. Drip. Drip. They felt like BAM, POUND, CLANG.

My tears tonight at at the kitchen table. Remnants of what my heart felt and I held back as my 7-year-old daughter asked about the day she highlighted in pink -- September 11. 

"Mommy, so, what happened today for all those soldiers to die?" Rhiley asked.

"What do you mean, baby?"

"Well, the day of re..mem..br," she tried to get out as she pointed to her calendar that said "National Patriot Day and Remembrance. "We learned about it at school some today."

My heart sank as I realized she was asking about September 11.  The day I woke up to a breaking news email from CNN about an attack in New York. The day that I sat in my freshman dorm room and watched the second plane hit the tower on live national TV. The day I huddled on my suite-mate's twin bed with my other besties and watched the towers fall. The firemen going in. The civilians jumping out of windows. The chaos. The day our nation stood still.

The day evil thought it had won.

"Sweet girl, are you asking about what happened on September 11?"

"Yes ma'am. I learned that we remember this day every year, like 2016 and 2015 and 2014 and 2013 and 2012 and on and on, Mommy. Why do we remember it? Why do we remember that soldiers died?" Her soft heart was beginning to question and not understand why we would remember people dying. She began to tear up. Her soft, innocent heart, breaking for people.

"Come here, sweetness." I beckoned her to come around the kitchen counter. I picked her up and set her on the counter top. "Rhiley, it wasn't soldiers that died on September 11. It was firefighters - 343 firefighters."

Understanding hit her, her face in astonishment. "Like Daddy?"

"Yes baby, like Daddy. He is a firefighter."

"But Daddy wasn't there, was he?"

"No baby, but he almost went to help afterwards."

She stared at me trying to fathom what happened that day.

"Rhiley, 16 years ago on September 11, 2001, there was a group of bad bad people that we now call terrorists that made two very tall buildings in New York City fall down. The buildings were on fire and the firefighters were trying to get inside to help the people in the tower buildings to get out. When the towers got so hot from the fire, they fell down - with all those people in it." I paused. I teared up. I watched her face understand the pain and death. I did not share with her that it was two airplanes that hit the towers to make them fall down. I did not want her to think about me on a plane and dying. But death on her mind -- it was too late.

"Mommy, one day Daddy will die. And you will too. And I'll miss you." She buried her head into my neck and squeezed me tight, tears pouring down. My 2-year-old ran through the kitchen softly singing "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." Time stood still.

I hugged Rhiley tight. I held her head in my left hand and her body in my right. I gently wept with her.

"What happened after that, Mommy?"

I comforted her. "Well, we went to war with the terrorists, but you are safe now. Our country is safe now. And you are okay."

"Will there be another war?

"Well, that war is over, but there will be another war some day. It just will happen, but we don't know when."

'Did we win? Did we win the war, Mommy? I don't want you to die, but I know you will one day. But it's okay." She sniffled and looked up at me.

"Yes, Rhiley. It is okay. And we did win the war. And the next war has already been won, too. Jesus has won the war, sweet girl."

"Jesus?"

"Yes, Jesus. He won the war when he rose from the grave because He is alive."

"So Jesus is our winner of the war?"

"He sure is, sweetness. And that's all you need to remember."

...And just like that, my daughter's first lesson in warfare began.

Jesus has won. Period. Step aside Satan. You have no place here.

In Jesus Name.