I cannot look at a Ryder van and not flinch…


I cannot look at a Ryder van and not flinch

Everytime I see it I am brought to silence

Anger swells inside me

As I’m reminded of the violence

I cannot look at a Ryder van and not flinch

Everytime I glance, I must turn away

Like the statue of Jesus

I still weep for this day

I cannot look at a Ryder van and not flinch

Thoughts of loss come to mind

Of family friends

And how it was not yet their time

I cannot look at a Ryder van and not flinch

When I think about McVeigh the monster, the man

Of the terror he brought

With that yellow Ryder van

The bombing was a terrible happening.  I was far to young to remember it but without it was an event that shook my world and is a part of my history.  How many years in school did we have a two minute moment of silence (on the anniversary) between 9:01 and 9:03.  How many pennies had I collected for my schools to give to the relief efforts?  Even as a child, when what had happened was beyond my comprehension, the bombing was a part of my life.  It wasn’t until I got much older did I even begin to notice what a strong part of my life it was.

Two of my best childhood friends are bombing survivors.  On the day of the bombing my mother was at work (approximately two blocks away) when she felt the explosion.  My two friends, Donquay and Ryan were two of the children at the YMCA that day.  Growing up I have heard time and time again the stories from my mom when she and Donquay and Ryan’s mom searched all day for them.  It took them from almost sun down to find them in the chaos, the entire time not knowing if the boys were alive, and if they were what condition they would be in.  They are two of the youngest survivors of the bombing, but not the youngest victims.  I cannot imagine how different my life would be had they not survived and been a part of my life.

But Donquay and Ryan are not the only victims of the bombing attatched to my life.  In fact two of the 168 victims are as well.  For discretion sake I won’t give any names but one man was the father of my babysitter, and one woman, the mother of an elementary school friend.

Even later in my life the bombing has found a way to still find me.  When I went to High School I made a friend who I later found out to also be a bombing survivor.  He has long term breathing issues as a symptom of the bombing from when he was a child.

But that’s just it!  The bombing left scars on survivors, families, Oklahomans, the world…that is what I think the Museum commemorates.  It is a place for those to mourn, it is a place for those to remember, and it is a place for those to share their scars and learn of everyone else’s scars…physical and emotional.  Constantly throughout the museum you can read people’s testimonies, hear survivor stories, and look at world-wide condolences.  from the beautiful 100o golden cranes, to the penny walkway, and the chunk of fence with trinkets and letters on it one can clearly see that there was something about the bombing that touched everyone, and in some way provided a link for unity.  The museum is for everyone, so come and be prepared.

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About adorableangst

I am from apples, from pepperidge farms and vanilla I am from my Grandmother's paintings that hang on the walls I am from the cut grass, the sunflower I am from the disgusting cinnamon roll Christmas tree From Brennah, Jami and Gary I am from the bad jokes and "go fish", from "go to college" and "always forgive" I'm from "here I stand I cannot differ" I'm from Germany, cajun fried turkey and gumbo From the time my twin sister ran into the mirror thinking it was me and the the fact that that was not the first time. I am from the shelves and shelves of scrapbooks and memories in my living room (and more recently facebook), who's contents are untouched by time...and won't be

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