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Sunday Night
MaryHelen Swanson, editor

The enormity of the event came across a six-inch TV screen, fuzzy and faded due to poor reception in a newspaper office filled with electronics. The horror hit like an unexpected slap in the face and my heart sank to its lowest in 54 years.
As I watched it unfold in absolute disbelief, all I could do was think about my family. The most important thing at the moment was hearing their voices.
Did you see it? Did you hear it? Whatís happening to our world?
Yes, yes, I donít know. Are you alright?
It was not over in a few minutes and we were not alright. The devastation, the inhumanity, continued and got worse.
Here in the office, as we watched that tiny television hour after hour while going through the motions of work, a sick feeling mushroomed inside of us. We had a paper to put out. We had the familiar community news from the previous week to share. We had excerpts from our everyday lives in East Central Minnesota to relay. But it wasnít going to be easy.
I canít even remember what the local issues were- budgets, perhaps, growth, probably, high school homecomings, births and deaths and wedding announcements.
In our churches and our homes we huddled and hugged and looked deeply into each othersí tear-filled eyes with unanswered questions swirling around our heads like the ugly plumes of smoke that darkened the New York skyline. We muddled through the remaining days of the week. The horror intensified as the death toll rose and we tried to ease the pain by praying together in the soft light of dripping candles.
We began the process of healing by flying American flags and singing patriotic tunes. Everything turned red, white and blue while our world was blanketed by an overwhelming gray cloud. The rebirth of Americanism was supposed to make us feel better.
Eventually, it did get easier to get through one day and then another, because essentially our nation is a healthy country that refuses to crumble under the disease of terrorism.
Now itís 365 days later and we must remember.
What have we learned? In a way, I wonder.
Many who turned to family and friends have turned away again. Some say they are forever changed, but if you look closely, people are pretty much the same now as they were before that day.
People who flocked to church are doing something else on Sunday mornings now. Security measures that were heightened were relaxed long before we started talking about how to observe this dreadful day.
And youíll find American flags and patriotic banners gathering dust on the sale racks at discount stores.
Maybe itís good that we have worked our way back to some sort of normalcy, but I know there are many whose scars will never heal. The gaping hole left in the New York business district is a gruesome reminder of the insanity, and the talk of war that has emerged from the ashes is frightening.
Still, on this day of remembrance, to those who died, to those who searched and rescued, to those who brought comfort and love when anger and hate prevailed, I offer my heart. To those who will continue to protect us as we work and play and sleep, I offer my everlasting gratitude. I would ask that you take a moment to reflect on how you felt one year ago when you heard the terrible breaking news, and the weeks thereafter. Where did your heart go? Go there again.
In the future, the horror that unfolded on our television screens may fade in our minds, but weíll remember, weíll always remember September 11, 2001.

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