OKC Bombing Memorial

Tugging on the corner of my shirt with his Cheeto-cheese covered fingers, he asked, “Daddy, what is this place?” I took a deep breath of humid Oklahoma air and looked around. It was at that moment that I realized we were not standing in the same place nor were we standing there as father and son. Rather, we stood there as one generation and another. What he perceived of this place was entirely different from that which I viewed.

He saw two walls made from the same metal that pennies come from and a shallow pool in which nobody was swimming. Between these walls he heard nothing more than the birds flying above in the beautiful mid-afternoon sky.

I did not see walls, but instead two markers that framed a minute in time that would forever represent fear, chaos, tragedy, and violence. The shallow pool was not there, only to be replaced by a crater that swallowed cars, a building, and seemingly, life. The sky above was filled with plumes of dark smoke and circling news helicopters. In the silence, screams of panic, pain, and dismay and the sounds of car alarms and emergency vehicles verberate between the two walls.

He gazed across the pond and saw rows of chairs, big and little, at which no-one sat. There was, however, a sad woman kneeling beside the chair with her hands clasped as if she were praying. Beyond that he saw a wall that rose to stairs climbing to nowhere.

Those were not empty chairs. They were occupied by the men, women, and young children who were murdered that early day in mid April. I did not see a sad woman, only a wounded mother talking to her baby angel sitting proud in his small chair. Those same angels walked up those stairs and into a building that was soon blown apart by a cowardice man in a terrorist rage. Those stairs still lead to somewhere, only now that place is an ideal.

And behind us he saw a lone tree. It leaned a little away from where we stood. But it was full, lush, and green, thriving in the soil from which its roots grew deep.

It was not just a tree, but a symbol of hope, peace, and most importantly, survival. The tree survived a terrorist attack that claimed 168 lives and injured others in immeasurable amounts. That beautiful elm tree with its dark green leaves and thick trunk embodies life.

“Daddy,” he said again with an inquisitive tone. “What was this place?”