We were on stage at OSU for the state concert band contest. As an 8th grader, it was my first trip to state. I was nervous. We were the first band to perform that morning, scheduled for a 9:00 start. Mrs. Eby liked being first, and we were ready. Our first song was beautiful, with light and airy trills and runs. "Visions of Flight," it was named. Later people said it was fitting, with so many souls departing earth during those few minutes.
No one knew the extent of what had happened. In some ways we were protected from it, being away from our normal routines and away from TVs and phones. It was before everyone had cell phones. Even in the weeks to follow, as pictures and details were released, I'm not sure I fully grasped what had happened. It was close and personal - just an hour away from home. It happened in my lifelong home state - gentle, unassuming, nonthreatening, quiet Oklahoma. Maybe that was the most surprising part for me. Not that it happened, but that it happened here and by the hands of our own. But even though it was close and personal, I strangely felt separated from it.
I wasn't separated from it, though. The tragedy of April 19, 1995, became part of who I am. I felt it on the morning of September 11, 2001. I felt it today as I heard the names being read.
And so on this 15th anniversary of the bombing of the Murrah Building, I take a moment to remember.
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