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OKC, NYC, D.C. - Bad News, Good News

© Mindy Banz Kitzel

We live only blocks from where the Murrah building exploded on April 19, 1995. That beautiful spring morning, my husband gulped down a bowl of cereal, late for work. I was nine months pregnant and waddled across the kitchen to hand our two year old a vitamin. I glanced at the clock above his head: 9:02 a.m. It was over in one second, but the moment still resounds. Even now, I can hear the explosion that we thought was the neighborhood gas lines. I feel the air sucked out of my lungs and the room, creating a negative space. I see our kitchen windows bow out and back again. Frantic calls to friends working in the courthouse across the street. No telephone access - busy cell phone signals. Disbelief. My husband has a rare blood type and was one of the first in line to donate. He didn't hurry to the donation site this past Tuesday. We learned in 1995 that there was a lot of blood collected, but few left to give it to.

Oklahoma City is remembering what happened here as we watch this week's reports. Like many of you, we are trying to mobilize with aid, bears for the children, food and workers, as so much of the country did for us. What we experienced here is on a lesser scale than what is happening 2,000 miles away in NYC and D.C., but "lesser," in numbers only. 168 dead or thousands - what does it matter? One life lost in this way is too many. The final numbers won't take into consideration the losses in quality of life for the physically and psychologically injured. Even those of us physically okay were (and some are) still troubled. Surgeries and rehabilitation are still going on. The headline of the newspaper saved from my daughter's birth day is in bold, black letters - a body count. Somewhere in that paper filled with death and injury is the notice of a sweet 8 pound girl born to Bruce and Mindy. Six years later, I am just now getting over the 2:00 a.m. nightmares of being sucked up into the utter blackness, my arms outstretched, hearing my children's voices call. In the dream, I know I can never reach them.

I want to tell you, I often visit the bombsite with company and am still shocked that other visitors continue to be surprised that "it happened here." Of course it happened here!!! Terrorism happens all over the world and we are as

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