Page 12 of To the Moon and Back
“I don’t.” Ashley put her arm around Amy’s shoulders as their group started to walk toward the steps.
“None of us do.” Cole looked at Jessie and then Kari. “Tell us about it.”
Amy had done her research on the memorial site and while they walked, she told them what she knew. The site had opened in 2000, on the fifth anniversary of the bombing. It sat on three acres in the heart of Oklahoma City and included the museum and the open space behind it.
“See those?” She pointed to a nearby field with rows of chairs made of bronze and what looked like blown glass. Amy stopped. “There’s one for each of the people who died that day.”
“How come some of the chairs are smaller?” Jessie shaded her eyes.
Amy was quiet for a moment. “Those represent the children. Nineteen little kids were killed. Most of them were in the daycare on the second floor.”
Again Ashley’s heart felt the weight of the tragedy. The realness of it. Good thing the guys had taken the younger ones to Frontier City today. The sadness here would be more than they could understand.
They were passing a large rectangular pond. Amy motioned toward it. “That’s the reflecting pool. Come on.” She stepped away from Ashley and headed toward a low stone wall. “Look into the water.”
Everyone followed her lead. The only thing Ashley could see was her own reflection—almost as clearly as if she were looking into a mirror.
“I see myself.” Cole looked from the water to his cousin.
“Exactly.” Amy smiled, but her eyes held a deeper sorrow. “It’s meant to show you the face of someone harmed by the bombing. Someone changed by it.” Amy looked at the others. “Because when terrorism hits, we are all affected. Always.”
Ashley could hardly believe her niece’s depth and insight. She had definitely studied the memorial. The reason for the pond was spot-on. Of course every American had been harmed by what had happened that sad day. Ashley had been in high school. The feeling then was the same now: only God could heal America. For this bombing and for 9-11 and so many other ways the people of the United States had turned against Him.
Amy sat down on the stone bench and the rest of them did the same. “See those tall thick walls?”
They were impossible to miss. Covered in bronze and at least a hundred feet high, each of them glistened in the morning sun. Amy explained that the walls were called gates, and that the times engraved at the tops of them represented the minute before the bomb went off and the minute after.
“The bronze is so that people would see more sunshine than memorial. The promise of life outside of the disaster site.”
“Wow.” Cole patted her shoulder. “You did your homework.”
Amy looked more relaxed. She smiled. “My history teacher said I could do an extra-credit report on it.”
“So what about the fence?” Jessie turned and looked over her shoulder at the long stretch of chain link at the far end of the grounds. “It has things all over it.”
“Right.” Amy stood and looked that way. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
As they walked, Ashley kept her eyes on Amy. I couldn’t be more proud of her. Amy’s composed way of sharing the details about the memorial. The way she carried herself, head high. Smile ready. Even surrounded by reminders of her own loss.
Amy wasn’t a victim. No matter what had happened to her because of the car accident. Even though the rest of her family was in heaven, Amy was whole. Of course she had moments of feeling sad and missing her parents and sisters. But she was determined to live life.
Coming here to see the Survivor Tree was further proof.
Her cousins walked on either side of Amy as she talked about the fence. “The original bombing site was fenced so people wouldn’t disturb it. But crowds still came to see the area, to remember. Some of them because they’d lost a person they loved here.” Amy pointed to the fence, now just ahead of them. “People began to leave things tucked in the chain link. Letters and cards, photos and teddy bears. Whatever reminded them of the husbands and wives, daughters and sons they had lost.”
“This part of the fence.” Cole pointed down the length of it. “Is that what they kept when they opened the memorial?”
Amy nodded. “Exactly.” She motioned to a pink teddy bear. “Every day people leave things here. And every day the memorial site workers collect everything and put it in storage.”
“All of it?” Kari sounded as amazed as Ashley felt.
Amy thought for a few seconds. “I guess. I’m not sure.”
They reached the fence and for a few minutes Ashley looked at the items. A faded baseball cap with the words Hey buddy . . . still think about you every day written across the bill. A birthday card tied to the fence so the inside could easily be seen. Ashley stooped low to read it.
“Every birthday. Every Christmas. Every time I see a sunset. I still miss you, Son. Love forever, Dad.”
Ashley felt her tears again. She wanted to spend an hour here. Reading the notes and messages. Imagining the heartache behind them. But they didn’t have that much time, which was just as well. The sense of grief and loss was bound to be overwhelming.
