Anyone who is from Oklahoma will forever remember April 19, 1995. I also think about my beautiful mom. April was her birthday month, and her favorite religious holiday, Easter, will always be in my heart. I remember exactly where I was on April 19, 1995, at 9:02 when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City had a truck bomb explode, killing 168 people, 19 of whom were children. I can recall exactly where I walked down the sidewalk at Pioneer delivering mail. But being a mom, what is even more prevalent was my children and where they were.
My son was in 4th grade in Tonya Cameron’s class. The bombing, in its devastation, planted a seed to serve in my 4th-grader’s heart. In 2003, after graduation, he left on June 10th on a 20-year journey of service to his country. I’m terrible at remembering dates, but when watching a piece of my heart walk away to start his new chapter, there was a part of me that wanted to stomp and scream, while another part couldn’t be more proud!
Something that stays with me to this day is that I wrote to him every day while at boot camp. When I addressed the letters, I used his middle name, which is what we all called him. Unknowingly, he never received any of my letters because his full name wasn’t correct as the Navy saw it. Me and the Navy saw a lot of things from a different perspective! That was an epic moment that failed and broke my heart. He honored the pledge he made that day in Mrs. Cameron’s 4th-grade class, retiring after 20 years of service and achieving the rank of Navy Chief.
You probably don’t want to complain to me about having your adult children living close by. Yes, he traveled the world, and I was able to visit places I never expected to. There were different stations every three years and several deployments, life-changing events—some devastating, some beautiful. My mom’s heart learned the power of prayer! Some of those deployments I was told about, but what is haunting are the stories still bottled up inside him.
The term Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) refers to a disorder in which a person has difficulty recovering after experiencing or witnessing a terrifying event—something we will probably witness if we are on this earth long enough. I never thought my 4th grader would be able to relate to the first responders on April 19, 1995. I have had to learn that I can’t make the monsters go away. So when the news talks about those forever changed, I think of my 4th grader and an adult comment he made about serving his country. Another year, as we remember, I have asked the question: where were you on April 19th, 1995, at 9:02?
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