10 Years Later. . .

and I'm still fucking pissed off.  September 11th is like Pearl Harbor, the JFK assassination, or the Challenger explosion: you will never forget where you were when it happened.  It just so happens that I was sitting at the dining room table in on post housing at Fort Campbell homeschooling my oldest son.  The hubby comes running in (this is not unusual--on post housing has the advantage of being able to go home after PT for breakfast, a shower and maybe a quickie) and asks if I've seen the news.  My reply was some smart ass bitchy comment like, "No.  We're fucking doing schoolwork.  Why?"  And my husband, with all the bluntness of an infantryman, simply told me, "We're going to go kill some motherfuckers." 

And so the TV came on, homeschooling was forgotten and I sat in abject horror as the second plane hit the WTC.  I was on the floor in tears when the towers came down prompting Peter Jennings to say, "Holy fuck!"  I remember trying not to vomit through the coverage of what was happening in DC and Pennsylvania.  And I, like the rest of America, was glued to my television for the next two weeks waiting to hear who had done this to our country and growing angrier by the minute at the arrogance of the bastards who had killed innocent people in such a cowardly fashion to gain their 70 virgins in heaven.  And terrified as I was at the thought of my husband having to leave, I wanted nothing more than for him to "go kill some motherfuckers." 

Ten years, four deployments, and I don't know how many dead motherfuckers later, I'm still angry.  This will never be over until the last of these radical motherfuckers is finding out that the virgins they were promised was a huge fucking lie.  I will never forget but neither will I ever forgive.