Being someone who is thankful every single day to wake up in a free country, September 11th is obviously a day that I will never forget.
I firmly believe that every American will forever remember exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment they heard the news.
I was in the process of graduating high school early, so what would be the first week of school for my graduating class, was really my third month of summer session, and I was on my way to speak to my counselor.
In my hands were forms that I had filled out the night before, and I was coming downstairs to say bye to my mom and drive to school.
I was in a very good mood.
I hit the second to last step, and my mom turned around from watching the morning news with the most scared look on her face that I had ever seen.
My stomach dropped.
And that was the beginning of September 11, 2001.
I will never forget the details, because even on the 9 year anniversary, it still makes me cry.
Moving on.
On September 11, 2005 The Girl was a week shy of turning 20 months old.
It was a Sunday, and we were getting ready for a friend's wedding.
I was in The Girl's room painting my toes and Hubby was in the living room removing lint from his suit.
She bounced between us from room to room while we got ready.
Hubby had turned on the iron for his suit in our bedroom, thinking she was with me.
I thought she was still with him in the livingroom.
She had apparently gone into the diningroom or kitchen during that time- neither one of us was watching her, and both of us thought she was with the other adult.
He came to The Girl's room to check on my progress, and went back into the livingroom afterwards.
While he checked on me, she made her way into our bedroom with the iron.
I'm not sure what exactly happened next, but immediately following her actions, a scream like I have never heard belted out of our bedroom.
I jumped up and ran to the livingroom, unsure of where she was.
He ran to our bedroom, and seconds later, carried our screaming, hysterical little lady to the livingroom.
He screamed at me to call 911.
I didn't know what was happening, and told the dispatcher the details as he yelled them to me over The Girl's screaming.
"She has huge blisters on her face. She needs an ambulance. Her arm is bleeding. I don't know what happened."
At the time, I hadn't known about the iron.
I was calling from our kitchen phone and couldn't see her.
When I finally did, it was another one of those moments where you remember every detail for the rest of your life.
She was badly burned.
Hysterical.
Helpless.
The fire department and ambulance arrived quickly.
I still praise them on their effort.
Hubby rode with her in the ambulance, and I was told to drive at a high rate of speed as safely as possible to the nearby hospital.
I had pajamas on.
{booty shorts, a tank, and no bra}
I left my house just like that.
I arrived at the hospital looking like a crazed druggie looking for a fix.
The receptionist showed me to a room of a burn victim that had just arrived.
It was not The Girl.
I saw a man in physical distress lying on a hospital bed, weeping.
I still feel guilty for seeing a stranger at his lowest point, not offering a kind word of any kind, and promptly walking out of his room.
I decided to drive to a hospital a little further away, and luckily found Hubby.
She was in with doctors in another room.
The paramedics were waiting to see how she was.
They hadn't gotten another call, and they were concerned since she was so young.
When she came out, I took a picture with my cell phone and seconds later, was told she would be driven by ambulance to a better hospital in Los Angeles.
This time, I rode with The Girl and Hubby followed.
She slept the entire ride, and received extremely horrific treatment once we arrived.
They said they had to scrape her burns to avoid infection and scarring.
Hubby held her down.
I left the room sobbing.
Another guilty moment.
She had second and third degree burns on her forehead, right cheek, nose, right wrist, and the tip of her tongue.
Here she is with a glove-turned-balloon at the first hospital.
She healed slowly with weekly trips to L.A. to see a burn specialist.
We drove there weekly for 8 weeks.
Finally, she was given the okay to use a special cream at home, and eventually switch to Mederma.
To this day, her scars are still very noticeable, and kids at school ask her why her cheek is red.
It's very sensitive to sunlight and heat, and turns rosy throughout the day.
But she is strong, and young; an incredible combination.
I wanted to share my story because September 11th affects people differently, and I think acceptance, awareness, and compassion are crucial on this date.
For us, we remember our own heartache.
For friends of ours, they remember their wedding day.
For others, they remember the events that took place in 2001.
Every date has a different meaning for everyone.
Please keep that in mind always- especially today.
Happy weekend, friends.
