What September 11th Means to Me

On March 4th of this year, my cousin Nigel was killed while fighting in Afghanistan as a Marine. He was killed by a roadside bomb, an IED, while escorting a detainee. That night, we gathered as a family to mourn together, to remember, to hold each other while we cried openly. There were eight of us cousins who grew up together, and it was terrible, losing a family member so suddenly and so violently. It didn't seem fair--it wasn't fair, and we miss him.

The week following Nigel's death, at a funeral attended by political leaders, Freedom Riders, and hundreds of friends and family and ward members, my sister and cousin and I sang a medley of "Homeward Bound" and "O My Father." Somehow, we made it through the song without crying until we were finished. A Marine guard had escorted my cousin's body back to the United States and had watched over him every minute, until the flag that covered his coffin was folded and given to his mother and he was laid to rest at the Salem Cemetery. Again and again, we talked about Nigel's desire to serve in the military. Since he was about three years old, that's what he wanted to do. He spent his life preparing for that, and as soon as he graduated from high school, he enlisted with the Marine Corp. I know that he was grateful for the privilege to serve his country and fight for the ideals and principles he believed in. As one of his brothers said at the funeral, "His life was not lost; it was not taken; it was given to his country."

I'm not happy that there was a war for Nigel to go to once he enlisted, and I wish we didn't still have Americans in Afghanistan fighting against terrorists. I don't always agree with the politics that came out of September 11th and the anger that still exists because of that day, but I know that the things that were worth dying for to Nigel are worth believing in.

September 11th is a day of remembrance. It's a day to remember those who were killed nine years ago, and also a day to remember those who have been killed since. It's a day when, seeing the flag at half-mast, I remember that we have something worth fighting for and something worth believing in. I miss my cousin, but I am grateful for what his sacrifice has reminded me of.


Here are the words to the song we sang at his funeral (I am not smart enough to figure out how to do a sound clip):
In the quiet, misty morning when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red,
When the summer's ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime,
When adventure's lost its meaning--I'll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow,
Set me free to find my calling, and I'll return to you somehow.

If you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return
To your thoughts I'll soon be listening, in the road I'll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end
And the path I'll be retracing will lead me homeward bound again.

Oh my father, thou who dwellest in a high and glorious place,
When shall I regain thy presence and again behold thy face?
In thy holy habitation did my spirit once reside?
In my first primeval childhood was I nurtured by thy side?

When I leave this frail existence, when I lay this mortal by,
Father, Mother, may I meet you in your royal courts in high?
Then at length when I've completed all you sent me forth to do
With your mutual approbation, let me come and dwell with you.

In the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing, I'll be homeward bound again.